


Whispers of the Hist

by TheCuriousNumber5



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls Online
Genre: Adventure, Alchemy, Argonian wiener, Argonians, Awkward Romance, Black Marsh, Drama, F/M, High Rock, Humor, Love, Not really fluff but maybe just a very tiny bit of fluff, Romance, Sex, Shadowscales, Tamriel, Yes that says Argonian wiener
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-02-25 13:33:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 52,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22496911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCuriousNumber5/pseuds/TheCuriousNumber5
Summary: Hiding in plain sight…that was the hope, anyway. For her freedom, Grenna Sidoric had crossed the whole of Tamriel to a place stranger than she’d ever seen. What drew her to the acrid swamps of the Black Marsh? She needed to know. And if someone came looking, maybe the carnivorous plants would get them before they got her.
Comments: 20
Kudos: 42





	1. Mending

The Coin Brothers’ Tavern had been closed for hours, but commotion and a chair noisily turning over in the barroom broke the silence. Grenna Sidoric roused from what was already fitful sleep and turned over on her cot in the storage room. Blinking, bleary-eyed, she tugged the door hanging aside just an inch to peer out. It was dark, but shadowy shapes moved through the tavern. She reached for the club she kept beneath the rickety bed. If they were trying to rob the place, she was in no mood for it. Not that she posed an incredible threat even armed.

“Sid?” Came the familiar hiss of Ahdra, the bar matron. It was the name Grenna had asked her to use. The truth had been the only way for a strange, wandering Breton girl to earn the Argonian woman’s trust. “ _Sid, you must wake up!_ ” Ahdra was the only one in Stormhold who knew any of the truth.

“I’m up, I’m up.” Grenna pushed herself into a sitting position, and suddenly bright light exploded into her field of vision as a lantern was lit and shoved into her hands. She squinted against the brightness. “What’s the matter?”

“Your skills are needed. Up, up!” The matron urged, and as Grenna stood, she saw a hunched form outside the storage room, blood dripping onto the floor where he stood.

“Hurry, put him here.” She whispered, hanging the lantern on a hook then moved her blankets aside.

Ahdra struggled, and with both their effort, finally, a very large Argonian man was heaved onto the cot. His face was dark green, almost black in the dim light, and he winced, clutching his side. It was the most expression she’d ever seen one of their kind make.

“Hurry…” The matron urged.

“What hap…?”

“No questions! Just fix him up. I must clean up the blood before it soaks in.”

Without hesitation, Grenna sat on the edge of the cot, starting to unfasten her patient’s leather coat. Judging by the secrecy, black and dark red leather, and seriousness of the wounds, it was safe to assume there was some involvement with the Shadowscales. As tavern staff, she’d gleaned quite a lot of information in the last month. Her patient was bleeding freely, though, she could speculate later.

Her fingers flew expertly over the buckles and ties, of which there seemed to be entirely too many. The Argonian didn’t look the sort, though, who would be particularly forgiving if she simply cut the coat away from the wound.

“You seem fairly good at that.” He winced from the pain, though, as her eyes flicked from the fastenings to his eyes and back.

“Is that a remark about my ability to undress a man? Or an inference that I’ve had to save a lot of stupid people who’ve gotten themselves badly injured?” Grenna didn’t expect or want a response, at last, the final strap loosed.

Finally, the coat was open, and she yanked up the thin, black linen shirt beneath it, which was soaked in blood. A jagged blade had pierced her patient’s side and gone through. By the angle, there was a good chance anything vital had been missed. Penetrating the resilient hide of an Argonian was no easy feat; the blade must have been incredibly sharp.

There wasn’t time for cleaning and salve to go on first, the bleeding had to be stopped before everything else. Grenna put her hands over the entrance and exit wounds, whispering silently to herself, and a warm, golden glow emanated from beneath her palms. The Argonian inhaled sharply, and she concentrated on the task. His flesh resisted very briefly, then knit itself back together. A small shard of some sort of metal was pushed out as the wound closed. Had he been run through with a _broken_ blade?

The free flow of blood had ceased, but that wasn’t his only wound, it was just the only one that had been immediately threatening his life. Grenna wiped the blood from her hands onto the hem of her nightshirt then, moving fast, yanked a box out from beneath the cot and tossed back its lid, which clattered against the hard-packed dirt floor. She blew some herb particles out of the mortar then opened a little satchel, dumping its contents into it. Silently, she praised her own forethought for preparing ingredients earlier in the week. Next, she uncorked a small bottle of a thick, black substance, pouring a small amount in before grinding it all to a thick paste with the pestle.

“Here. Eat this.” She reached up before he could reply, pulling his lower jaw down and mashing the wad of paste against his tongue before closing his mouth for him. His yellow eyes widened in surprise, and the crest of spines that ran from brow to the back of his head stood up. As instructed, though, he chewed and swallowed. “That _should_ keep everything from festering. It helps that you got here shortly after…whatever happened. I cannot _tell_ you the number of fools who come a week later with parts of them ready to rot off.”

“Human medicine?” His voice was deep and didn’t have the hissing rattle she’d have expected. Grenna scoffed, though.

“ _Argonian_ medicine, what sort of healer do you take me for? Honestly.” She shook her head and mixed up more of the paste. “If I fed _that_ to a human, they’d be dead in hours.”

“Apologies. I did not mean offense.” He glanced downward at the cot he’d been dumped into and the growing bloom of red across homespun linen. “I am sorry I’ve bled on your bedding.”

“I’m a woman, I’ve been washing blood out of bedding for a long time.” She muttered, applying the paste to the now shallow cuts that remained of his stab wound. “Could you sit up and take off the coat and shirt, though? The blood on them is…soaking in.”

“Of course.” He pushed himself up, and she watched with unintentional shamelessness as he shed the stained attire. Certainly, he was an assassin to be built in such a way. He was lean and firm, and though he wasn’t bulging, his musculature was sharp and defined beneath his dark scales. Grenna’s eyes lingered on his torso, his abdominals taut with the effort to hold himself upright during his disrobing. His physicality was rather impressive, really…

Without the urgency of needing to save his life hanging over her head anymore, Grenna took stock of further injuries. It consciously occurred to her then that there was a half-naked man in her bed. _Oh no_. The leather, already stretched tight across his thigh, was split, revealing jagged gash that required attention.

“I will see to it you are compensated for the mess…” He went on.

“Not to worry…” She brushed the comment off, idly grinding the paste some more, to keep her hands busy. At least she could make her fidgeting look professional when necessary.

“You’re not going to ask what happened?” He laid back, propping himself up on one elbow, watching her with astute yellow eyes. She knew the type, from her travels, the glint in his gaze as he assessed her, asking seemingly innocuous questions that revealed more than one might think.

“Well, Ahdra said not to ask questions, but I suppose judging by the clandestine nature of this little fiasco, that I’m better off being left in ignorance.”

“I suppose, then, that I won’t ask what a high-born Breton girl is doing in Stormhold.”

“What?” Grenna froze, staring at his face for a long moment, her mind racing, fearing he might know who she was. Did he have a purpose? Would he try to take her back to High Rock for whatever reward her family was no doubt offering for her return? Though it seemed unlikely that they’d have hired an Argonian.

“Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.” He sounded more reassuring than she was prepared for. “What happened there?” She flinched away from him as he reached toward the thick scar that ran down her left cheek and over her chin. A smaller one about three inches long descended from the right side, down across both lips.

“There was an accident some years ago.” She cleared her throat, and thankfully he didn’t inquire further. It was a tiny sliver of the truth, so it wasn’t an outright lie. In some cases, lies of omission didn’t count as lies at all. Besides, what business was it of his? She wasn’t asking him who’d stabbed him or why. This was the sort of thing that happened to dangerous people. And while he didn’t appear to be wearing his blades, she’d have bet money there were others on his person.

Her eyes made their way back to the thigh wound. She needed him to take his pants off and wracked her brain for some tactful way to say so. It had never been a problem before, she’d seen countless people in varying states of undress as she cared for their wounds.

This was not at all how she imagined having an undressed man in her bed for the first time. And an Argonian, no less. It was an amusing thought, and she stifled a quiet laugh.

“Something funny?”

“Ah, no, not you. Sorry. Just…thought of something…doesn’t matter. Um…” She examined the edges of the tear of his leather trousers, her mouth working soundlessly as she intended to indicate her need to access his wound. Maybe she could just stick the paste in through the rip, and he wouldn’t need to undress further. She wasn’t sure she was prepared for a pantsless Argonian. Before a solid conclusion could be made, his hands had undone the belt, pulled it entirely off, and long fingers were busily unlacing the fly. She’d never seen a naked Argonian before, male _or_ female. A little panic drummed in her chest like it was going to war. _Oh no_.

“My name is Selaer, by the way.” The fly was undone, and his thumbs hooked under the waistband.

“Erm…lovely to meet you…Selaer…I’m Grenna…”

“Ahdra called you Sid.”

“Oh, damn!” Grenna winced, having forgotten herself. She’d meant to give her alias.

“I won’t tell.”

Internally, she writhed self-consciously, trying to look anywhere else but at his crotch, and the words came out before she even had time to stop them.

“I suppose it probably _is_ proper etiquette to be introduced _before_ you take your pants off in the presence of another.” He made a quiet, but surprised noise of amusement, like a choked back laugh, perhaps, as his crest rose briefly, then he shoved the leather leggings halfway down his thighs, far enough that she could tend to the wound.

“I apologize for making you uncomfortable…”

“Nonsense, what kind of a healer is _uncomfortable_ with an undressed patient?” Grenna’s tone was deceptively confident, but then she looked toward him, finally, and tried not to frown. Likely no one took kindly to having their nethers frowned at. He wasn’t…there wasn’t…what she expected. Somehow, she’d imagined Argonians to simply have Argonian-colored bits not unlike those of humans, but there was…nothing there. Well, not _nothing_ ; it was sort of a raised area, but there were no outwardly apparent or discernable…bits. Where was the part of him that made him… _him?_

Grenna did not _dare_ to look at Selaer’s face, lest she find either amusement or condemnation in his eyes at her reaction to his foreign physiology. She felt foolish, she should have known just how different Argonians were. Surely there were books she could have read, though it would have been a bit awkward, requesting tomes regarding the reproductive anatomy of non-humans from the local archives in her days of study.

“I don’t bite,” Selaer assured her, to no avail.

“I suppose unless asked.” Truly she needed to rein in her commentary.

“Only if you ask me to.”

 _Oh no_ . Grenna met his eyes briefly, and he looked almost intrigued. How had _she_ become the peculiar one in all this?!

She forced herself to focus, pouring a cleaning solution onto a cloth before wiping away the dried blood from the leg wound. His thick, muscular thigh was firm beneath her fingers, and it was with some effort that she didn’t allow her eyes to wander. It was interesting, she found, having had her hands on a fair bit of him now, that his skin didn’t feel rough and scaly as she might have expected, but it was harder than human skin.

Once the laceration was clean, Grenna dabbed it dry then carefully added thin layers of the herbal balm she’d made. The top layer was a little too thick and wasn’t setting quickly enough, so she leaned down a little, blowing on it to speed things up. Undoubtedly, her patient wanted to get out of there as soon as possible.

Selaer’s entire body tensed up as she tried to get the balm to dry before bandaging, and she frowned. He was gripping the edges of the cot, the tendons on the backs of his hands standing out as he strained.

“Does that hurt?” She peered up, and he quickly looked away, chest rising a little faster, and the cords of his neck were taut.

“No.” A sharp breath hissed out between his teeth.

“Then, what…?” Grenna’s eyes found their way back to his groin, an area which she’d inadvertently become insatiably curious about, for science, of course, and she found there had been a change. _Oh no._ There was an opening, and through it, poked the blunt but tapered, grayish tip of something. She froze, realizing what its appearance meant in conjunction with her leaning so close to his thigh and thoughtlessly blowing on it. Her face turned crimson, and Selaer covered himself with one hand.

“Apologies.” He said very quietly, looking away. Oh, by all the gods, daedra, and anything revered in between, _how_ had she been so foolish?

“Erm…nonsense.” She feigned nonchalance for exactly five seconds before giving a little dismissive wave that accidentally sent the pestle flying as her hand hit the butt of it. It turned end over end through the air, bits of paste flecking the wall and immediate surroundings before clattering loudly to the floor. She stared at where it rested for a long moment, paralyzed in the throes of her mortification.

Grenna grabbed the bandages, and hastily wrapped his thigh. “Uh…any other…serious wounds?”

“I don’t believe so.”

“I think I’ve got everything patched up, then.” She surged to her feet and nearly toppled as her heel struck the wayward pestle. Selaer grabbed her arm to stabilize her, and the heat in her face burned hotter still. “Pardon.” She whispered and snatched up the marble grinding tool, before stepping aside to quickly give it and the mortar a wipe-down.

Out the side of her eye, she watched Selaer rise and realized then, as he was no longer hunched in pain, just how tall he really was. His back was to her as he pulled up his leggings and refastened them with the belt, tail swaying a bit. His shoulders were broad, and the powerful muscles beneath his skin stood out. She was all but gawking despite her catastrophic humiliation. He left off the bloody shirt and pulled his jacket back on.

“You’ll need to get your things mended. Again, it looks like.” She quipped, noting the holes in his clothes, trying to break the already painfully awkward silence. Other rips had obviously been clumsily sewn up, she noticed.

“Are you offering?” He tilted his head slightly to the side, and without missing a beat, Grenna snatched the shirt from him, holding it up.

“I suppose it wouldn’t be all that difficult. Just get the blood out and a couple holes here and there…” She gave a shrug.

“It…was a joke.”

“Well, whoever mended these before wasn’t very good at it.” What in _Oblivion_ was she doing? Had she not embarrassed herself enough for one night? He probably mended his own clothes, unless there was a Mrs. Dangerous-Assassin waiting for him at home. “It’s no matter, I have little else to occupy me besides work here.” _Stop talking_ , she pleaded with herself. “You’ll have to bring those other things back some other time since…you’re wearing them, and…” Grenna quickly returned to the important matter. “I will need to examine and re-dress your wounds in a couple days to ensure everything is healing up properly.”

“If you insist. Truly, I appreciate your efforts, and I am very sorry to have bled all over the place. I _will_ compensate you; you have my word.” He paused as she simply nodded again while he looked at her. Finally, after a small eternity, he left the storage room. She looked at the shirt in her hands then to the bloody cot and sighed, shaking her head.

Sleep would not come after Selaer’s departure. But there were always things to do; it seemed foolish to waste the time. Grenna cleaned the blood from her cot and from the assassin’s shirt since she’d mixed up enough of the solution. But after that, still, she didn’t sleep, and so mended the shirt as well. The whole time she berated herself for even agreeing to do such a thing. Agreeing? He hadn’t asked! She’d _offered_ …like a dolt.

Morning patrons began to trickle in for their breakfasts as she cleaned the tables and poured them their coffee or beverage of choice. Did Selaer live close by? Was he a patron here? Had he been before, and she simply never noticed? Considering _she_ didn’t want to be noticed, it was rare that she made much eye contact with patrons. How long would he wait before coming back? Would he even bother? It seemed unlikely since, in that profession, he surely was capable of caring for his own non-life-threatening wounds. She had his shirt, though, not that it was a particularly fine garment. Would it be worth the effort for him to come back for it?

“Ah- _HEM_.” The patron whose table she was serving gave her a glare, and Grenna looked down to find she’d overflowed the mug of milk. A lot. The tabletop was nearly covered.

“Oh, damn…I’m so sorry, uh…let me get a towel…sorry…” Flustered, she went to the storage room to grab one of the larger cloths. Glancing at her cot, the image of the mostly naked Argonian who’d been there only hours earlier was abruptly at the forefront of her mind. She could still almost feel his skin beneath her fingers. Internally she gave a panicked scream. Stop it, stop it, stop it…

“Sid!” Ahdra pulled her from her thoughts, and Grenna blinked at her as the tavern matron stepped up close. Ahdra was a stern woman but seemed to have a soft spot for the situation that had led to Grenna being in Stormhold in the first place. “What did that Shadowscale do to you?” Her voice was a whisper, and she tugged a little on the wrap that was around Grenna’s hair in what seemed an almost motherly way.

“What?” She could _feel_ the depth of the red that her face instantly turned. “He didn’t do anything. He…I mended his wounds and…”

“His shirt, too, I see.” Ahdra motioned to where it sat folded on top of Grenna’s small clothes chest.

“Ah, well…” There was no logical excuse she could make, especially considering that she didn’t even know why she’d offered to do it.

“Did he frighten you?”

“No, not at all. He was…very polite, actually.” Grenna frowned a little. “One wouldn’t think an individual of his…” She mimed a vague, stabbing motion. “…would be so polite. Even when he took off his…” Halting, her eyes grew very round. It seemed she _always_ said too much.

“Took off his what?” Ahdra smiled then, as much as an Argonian _can_ smile, anyway.

“Well, there was a deep cut…on his leg…thigh…where the, uh, and inconvenient pants, so he…well, off they came, and the cut was mended. And I…he, well, I saw…the, um, him, with the…well, I’ve never seen…just a little bit, though, and I never thought…I didn’t…” Grenna gestured vaguely again near her waist. “It was nothing. There was nothing. I don’t know what I’m talking about.” She gave a nervous laugh and snatched the large, clean cloth from where it hung.

“He won’t hurt you.”

“I didn’t think he would.” Grenna shrugged. “Strangely, despite the obviousness of his…profession, he did not seem the sort to do others harm. Or at least…me.” A frown knit her brow as she thought about it. “He was quite nice, actually…no menacing _will-cut-your-throat_ sorts of overtures. Though, surprisingly willing to remove his clothes in front of a woman he’d never met before.”

“How old _are_ you? I can never tell the age of humans.” Ahdra took her by the shoulders, eyes narrowed at her as though it would help to determine Grenna’s years.

“Twenty-three…why?” The question seemed off-topic…

“Twenty-three and a maiden still. That’s how the humans say it, yes? When someone has never had a lover?” The matron tilted her head, and it happened again, that horrible flaming feeling in Grenna’s cheeks as she uncontrollably turned beet red _again_.

“What does _that_ …if it were even true, have to do with _anything_?!” Fibbing was not her forte.

“Just an observation.” Ahdra chuckled, giving Grenna’s shoulders a squeeze.

“An irrelevant, not to mention, _incorrect_ , one.”

“It is a wonder you crossed the whole of Tamriel with such an inability to lie, girl.” Ahdra made it seem like she could see into her, which was disconcerting, but somehow didn’t feel invasive. “You will see that the sort of people who did this…” Ahdra lightly touched Grenna’s scar. “…do not come from the Black Marsh.”

“I don’t want to talk about that.” Looking down, Grenna blinked away the pricking in her eyes and chewed the inside of her cheek. She’d never told Ahdra about that; perhaps she _was_ a seer.

“I know, and I will not ask.” The tavern matron took a step back. “I will see about getting you somewhere better to sleep than a cot in a storage room.”

The Black Marsh was a place usually considered unsuitable for the likes of humans, with its humid climate, and the shocking likelihood of meeting one’s demise by way of local flora and fauna. It was strange, to say the least, and it was as unlike the life Grenna had lived in High Rock as it was possible to be. But it was the only place in her mind when she decided to leave; nowhere else would do, and so she had come. For what reason precisely, she couldn’t say. Inside of one month, this wet, perilous land had become the first place she’d ever been allowed to simply exist as herself without the pressures of expectations and societal demands. A crushing weight was gone from her chest. Here, she could breathe.


	2. Perilous Fen

“What are you doing?” The small voice came from behind where Grenna crouched amongst the high underbrush, gathering roots. She paused and blinked. _What_ had she tasted that made even the plants talk? It wouldn’t be the first time she’d eaten something experimentally and spent a few hours hallucinating. Slowly, she looked over her shoulder and found several pairs of curious eyes on tiny Argonian faces watching her.

“Oh, hello.” She smiled at the children who all seemed very interested in her task. “Ah, well, I’m just gathering reagents…ingredients. For medicine and such.”

“But that plant is poisonous.” One of the taller children noted.

“You’re right, it is. I study poisonous things so that I can create medicine to counteract it…in case it is accidentally eaten.” There was no need to shine a light on the dark reality of life that it was people who were often trying to poison one another. And also, Grenna was more than proficient in manipulating poisons to either make them weaker or more potent or to interact with other substances. Something else the children didn’t need to be aware of.

“Do you live in Stormhold now?” Another child asked.

“Yes, for now. I don’t know where my permanent home is meant to be yet. Maybe it’s here, maybe it’s some other part of Black Marsh.” The only certainty was that she wasn’t going back to High Rock.

“I heard that your skin is so dry that it will crumble and fall from your bones if touched.” Yet another spoke up, and at that, they gathered more closely around Grenna.

“You may touch me if you like, I assure you that my skin will indeed _not_ crumble and fall off.” With sleeves rolled up to her elbows, she held out her arms. All their cool little fingers felt strange, but they seemed fascinated as they poked and prodded her skin, which was so different from their own. Fostering curiosity in young minds was important, as well as perpetuating facts rather than rumors.

“She is soft and warm.”

“Not terrible.” One agreed, nodding. Suddenly, there was pain, and one of the smaller children gasped, jerking back. There was a deep scratch on her arm, and a line of red had begun to well up.

“I didn’t mean to! I am sorry! My claws are too sharp…”

“Not to worry, I’m not angry, but yes, softer skin may puncture or scratch more easily than yours.” Grenna put her hand over the minor wound, and with a faint pulse of gold light, it was as if it had never been there. “See? I’m all better.”

“You healed it! Can you only heal soft skin, or could you heal us too if we were hurt?” The children all looked fairly similar in form as they had not been changed fully yet by the Hist. They differed in coloration and height, but for the most part, they were all skinny little waifs with wide, bright eyes looking too big for their heads.

“I can heal the wounds of any living thing.” Her legs were getting stiff from crouching, so she sat cross-legged, disregarding the damp backside that resulted from the moist ground.

“How about this?” One of them stepped forward, pointing to an ugly, half-healed, and nasty scrape on the shin. “I fell out of a tree, and it just won’t get better.”

“Hm, yes, put your foot here on my knee.” Grenna patted her leg, and a small, muddy foot plopped down. She peered at it and glanced back up at the tiny Argonian. “You’ve been scratching at it?” She got a sheepish shrug as a response then put her hand over the wound. With a brief glow, it closed. “There. All better. If it happens again and you can’t let it heal on its own, just come find me.”

“What about others? Can we tell others to come to you?”

“Yes, of course.” She smiled, hoping it communicated the kindness and acceptance she wanted it to. Argonians weren’t expressive in the same way as men and mer, so she wasn’t sure. Suddenly, the small group of children drew back from her, their eyes wide and fearful, staring at something behind her. “What?” Grenna twisted around, expecting an angry alit or kagouti, but instead saw Selaer standing a couple paces back. His arms were folded, and he was clad in black breeches, a tan shirt, and a leather belt at his waist. “Oh, it’s just you.” She turned back to the children. “You’re afraid of him?”

One of the littler ones trotted up to her side to whisper. “ _He is a Shadowscale_.”

“Is that so?” Grenna gave a nod. “And what, pray tell, is a Shadowscale? And why are they scary?” She knew, of course, but wanted the explanation from them. It seemed silly for the children to fear someone whose job it was to protect the fen.

“They…they’re born under the Shadow, and the Dark Brotherhood takes them and trains them. Some come back…some don’t…” The child blinked, glancing nervously behind her.

“Has he _done_ anything that frightened you?” She asked quietly, leaning in confidentially.

“Well…no…but the Shadowscales are dangerous.”

“Of course they are, they’re meant to be dangerous…dangerous to those who would hurt your home and your people. What do you have to fear from someone who protects you?” It pleased her to see the children mulling this over and whispering amongst themselves. The curiosity slowly came back to their eyes, much less fearful.

“You’re an outsider, are you not afraid?” The children seemed to creep closer again.

“She is a friend to the Saxhleel, little one.” When Selaer spoke, his voice was deep, resonating, and they all paused, staring up at him. He stepped forward and crouched beside Grenna, all the young eyes following him in fascination, awe even. She could see the barest hint of apprehension in his gaze, and almost hesitantly, he extended his hand, elbow resting on his knee. The children took a step back at once.

“Don’t be afraid.” She told them, putting a hand on Selaer’s forearm. The one whose leg she’d healed came forward, cautiously, then very slowly reached out and touched Selaer’s fingers. When nothing happened, he came closer, peering into the Shadowscale’s yellow eyes, then touched his shoulder. The child visibly relaxed, glancing back at the others and giving a nod. They swarmed him at once, feeling his hand and his arms and shoulders, chattering quickly in Jel. He responded gently, and they seemed happy with whatever he’d said. Grenna only knew a handful of words in Jel, definitely not enough to understand it or even string sentences together.

A bell rang in the distance, and the children paused, bid hasty goodbyes, and then scurried through the brush back toward town. Grenna smiled to herself, though, happy to have met them. She didn’t know many people in Stormhold yet.

“That was very kind of you. Thank you.” Selaer rose to his feet again, extending his hand to her, and she took it, letting him help her up.

“I’m not sure who was more afraid of who. Them of you, or you of them.” She smirked up at him but realized then that they were alone. Again. But he was dressed at least.

“Not all of the Shadowscales are as amiable as I am, you know.”

“I figured not. I was sure I’d gotten lucky that the bleeding assassin dropped into my lap was so agreeable. I can’t imagine, though, that even the most curmudgeonly of you would be cruel to children.”

“That is a fair assumption.” Selaer nodded, and Grenna fidgeted, picking up her bag and slinging it over one shoulder. She brushed idly at the tiny muddy footprint on the knee of her brown breeches. It was a good deal easier to crawl around the fen wearing these than a skirt. She’d had little cause since leaving High Rock to even consider wearing a dress. The clothes she had with her were all breeches, boots, tunics, belts, and trousers. She was too shapely to hide her sex, unfortunately, and never had been skinny enough to pretend to be a boy. But a hooded cloak had hidden her well enough on her travels.

“I looked for you at the Coin Brothers, but Ahdra said it was your day off and bid me good luck finding you.”

“Oh, yes. I like to come out and gather up herbs and such when I’ve got the time.” Grenna fidgeted some more. It had been more than a week since the night she patched up the tall, dark assassin. The night he’d stripped down entirely whilst sprawled across her bed remained vivid in her mind’s eye. She tried not to think about it. In fact, she’d spent a large part of the last week trying not to think about it.

Starting toward the creek, Selaer was all but forced to follow her, if he wished. The little place Ahdra had found for her to stay in was close by, and the sound of the stream it sat beside was soothing at night.

It was a tiny mud hut, but it was Grenna’s. Technically, it was part of the Coin Brothers’ holdings that was rented out sometimes. But now, she was allowed to use it as long as she was willing to work at the tavern.

“I’m not staying in the storage room at the tavern anymore, but you probably know that.” She reached the stream and waded in up to her ankles, watching for a couple different plants she’d been looking for as she walked. Seeing a sprig, waving beneath the surface of the water, she bent to pick it. “It is quite a relief not to share space with the stockpile of tavern food anymo—ahrraa—!!!”

Suddenly, she was plucked from the water and gave a startled shriek as Selaer tucked her beneath a long, muscled arm. Twisting around, she looked up, frowning disapprovingly. He reached out with his other hand, snatching up a sizeable snake from the water and tossed it far off into the weeds.

“Do you have no care for your own safety?” Selaer asked, moving toward the bank.

“Of course, I do.” Grenna made an indignant sound.

“One bite from that snake, and you would be foaming at the mouth, probably face down in the water.”

“It is fortunate, then, that you decided to lurk about today.” She tried watching him without it being too obvious. “Since the offending snake has been dispatched, I _would_ thank you to put me down, though. If you please.” He deposited Grenna neatly onto the mud, and it squelched between her toes.

“You should be more careful. Pay attention to more than just your herbs.”

“This, from the person who woke me in the middle of the night whilst poked full of holes to get patched up?” She arched a brow at him.

“That was not the result of being careless.” He smirked, just a little, as his crest rose.

“I don’t know, as the one putting back together those who have gotten themselves hacked apart, I would say it’s fairly careless to allow one’s self to enter, _knowingly_ , a situation where such an outcome is possible.”

“You know what I am, do you not?” He leaned down, yellow eyes boring into her.

“Yes. _Shadowscale_.” Grenna rolled her eyes, pretending his proximity had no effect on her whatsoever.

“And you are not. So, have a care while you search about for plants, lest the fen claims you for itself.”

“I _was_ being careful.” She crouched, setting down her bag and took out a bit of string, tying up the small bundle she had managed to get from the stream.

“You did not see the snake.” He tilted his head to one side.

“And you did. So, here we stand, no one bitten or dead.” Grenna rose, bag on shoulder once more. “I presume you’ve come to have your wounds checked?”

“You said that I should.”

“We both know you’re more than capable of monitoring mostly-healed wounds. But, if you want them checked, then I will check. Also, I still have your shirt. It’s mended…and cleaned. I had thought about leaving it with Ahdra to give you, but…” Her words trailed off as she started along the bank, back toward the hut, Selaer in tow. She’d hoped to see him again if she was being honest about it, and so had kept the shirt. The fact it meant seeing him alone had been shoved entirely from mind. Or so she told herself.

With eyes on the ground in front of her again, Grenna noticed a large spider and stepped over it.

“See? I’m _careful_.” She muttered. Her Argonian shadow made a small noise before grinding the pest beneath his heel.

“Grenna.” He sighed. “How did you make it from High Rock to the Black Marsh in one piece? Do you know what that was?”

“A…spider?” She offered. His level stare bore no amusement. “A deadly one, I assume, by your reaction.” She glanced down to where it had been.

“Not so deadly in small doses, its venom is a powerful paralytic, it…”

“ _Really_?” Interest piqued, Grenna moved back toward it. “Can it be extracted?”

“You’re strange, even for a healer.” Selaer watched her and kicked some mud over the dead spider, eliciting a short pout from her. “The venom can be and often is harvested for its properties, but only from live specimens. And usually not for any purposes that involve _helping_ people.”

“Oh! I wish you’d said that _before_ mashing the poor creature into the dirt. I shall have to see if I can find another. That could be useful.” She gave him a smile and walked up to the door of her hut. “Or, perhaps if you see one, you could snag it for me, just put it in a little jar, maybe. If they eat anything special, I’m sure I could find out what.” There was a stoneware pitcher of water on the ground, and standing on a mat of woven reeds, Grenna poured it over her feet, rinsing off the mud.

“What purpose would a healer have for a paralytic?” Selaer followed suit, rinsing his feet, and Grenna opened the door then stepped in.

Inside, there was room for a bed, a chest, a small shelf, a table, and a chair. It was perfect for one person, Grenna thought. She’d never had anything before that she’d earned for herself, and even if she was merely renting it, it was because of her own hard work.

“Well, my skills do extend beyond simply healing. I am a fair alchemist also if you must know.” With a sideways glance at him, she started to unpack her newly acquired herbs on the small table. “How many of my secrets did Ahdra tell you?”

“She did not tell me your secrets, only that you came here from High Rock and that she’s put her trust in you.” He motioned to the door. “Would you like me to leave this open?”

“No, of course not. Flies will get in.” Grenna shook her head and pulled out her chest of poultices and medicines. Selaer closed the door. “So, is Ahdra your…is she…are the two of you…?” Grenna’s confidence, false or otherwise, faltered, asking so personal a question, but he gave a snort and shook his head.

“Ahdra is my egg sister.”

“Oh.” Somehow, she had hoped he would say yes, that way it wouldn’t matter so much that they were alone together…in her living space…where her bed was. The reasons for her fascination with him were unknown; she didn’t even know him! “Has there been any pain since I fixed you up?”

“No.”

“Then why did you come back?” Grenna frowned and glanced at Selaer again. Inside the tiny hut, he seemed that much taller and more imposing, but she wasn’t afraid of him. Of all the things making her anxious, fear was not a culprit.

“You said that I should.”

“Yes, well…I was tired and…” She peered back in her medicine chest. He was undoubtedly all better already, there was nothing in there she would need. “Let’s see the stab wound, then, shall we?”

“Of course.” Without hesitating, he unfastened the tunic belt, dropped it onto the bed, and pulled off the beige, homespun shirt he wore. Grenna’s breath caught at the sight of his exquisite form. He didn’t _need_ to be here, she didn’t _need_ to look at his wounds. He didn’t _need_ to take his entire shirt off! Gods, what was the _matter_ with her?! She wanted to look at him, though, and she liked the way his breeches hung low on his hips.

Taking a step toward him, her eyes moved over his muscled chest and abdomen. There was barely any mar where he’d been run through, and slowly, she got closer. Finally, she dared to reach out and touched the fine line where the wound had been. Her fingers itched to explore his entire torso, to find out how every inch of him felt. _Every_ inch? Oh, gods. She had to get him out of there as soon as possible. She felt along both the entrance and exit wound scars, but there was nothing there.

“You look good, Selaer.” She murmured, then quickly amended: “Healed. You’re healed. You look healed. Ahem.”

“Do you need to see my leg?” He was standing closer to her than necessary. Or was she standing too close to him?

“Are you _that_ eager to remove your trousers in front of me again?” Grenna blurted, mortification setting in at once. That smart mouth of hers had gotten her in trouble more often than not. The heat crept up into her cheeks.

“Only if you ask me to.” Selaer’s voice was softer still, and with her fingertips still on the firm plane of his belly, she dared to look up and meet his gaze. She could ask him to, and he would do it. What did he mean, though? Was he implying something, or did he just mean that she could look at the wound?

Lust to this degree was an unfamiliar sensation for Grenna. She’d thought about men reasonably often when she was younger before the accident had happened. After that, any shred of desire or interest she’d had physically or otherwise had vanished. At least until a week ago, when drowsily, she’d watched this strange Argonian assassin strip off his clothes.

“Ah…well…no, thank you.” Her voice was quiet, and she was quite sure that the blush had extended from her cheeks to encompass the whole of her being. “N-not that I don’t…I don’t mean to imply…” Words failed her, and she flinched a little as he took her hands in his.

“What are you doing here?”

“What? Ahdra said the hut wasn’t being used and that I should…”

“No, what are you doing in Shadowfen?” Selaer’s gaze had hardened somewhat.

“Trying to find some peace, why? Are you _interrogating_ me?” Grenna pulled her hands free, taking a step back.

“You said it yourself, it is my job to protect my people. You are an outsider from a wealthy family with an unusual knowledge of poisons and medicine, and obviously some magic. Anyone would be a fool not to ask questions.”

“I’ve done _nothing_ to deserve your suspicion. I healed your wounds without question. Ahdra trusts me. I have been kind to the children and given aid to anyone who has asked for it…” Every muscle in her body seemed to tense up as he took a step toward her. Without looking away from him, she flipped open a compartment inside her medicine chest.

“I was born and raised to be suspicious as it isn’t in the nature of my people to be so.”

“Do you think to intimidate me? Do you think I got all the way _here_ by luck alone?” She trembled a little, hand ready to reach into the chest.

“I do not. That’s why I need to know why you’re here.”

“I came here to get away from High Rock. I committed no crimes and harmed no one if that’s what you’re worried about. All I want is peace and my freedom.” Her heart was beating hard. “I…I had to get away. I will _never_ submit to the whims of others for _any_ reason again. Not by force, or otherwise.”

“Again?” His head tilted to one side. Damn it! She’d said too much.

“I am referring, of course, to the situation where I received these scars, and if you think I’m going to say another word about _that_ …”

“No, I accept your answer.” He stepped back again, hands out in front of him. “I apologize if I frightened you.”

“I was not frightened.” She muttered. “I could not fight my way out of a potato sack, but as quick and sure as you are with a blade, I could have had you out cold on the floor. Alchemy is _widely_ underestimated, I’ll have you know.”

“I believe you, Grenna. Will you forgive me for the unpleasant necessity?” He extended his hand toward her, and she looked at it for a long moment. Even after that, she still didn’t feel like he sought to harm her, and when a small eternity had ticked by, she took his hand.

“I understand.” She said quietly.

“Why did you choose the Black Marsh?”

“It was as far from High Rock as I could get without leaving Tamriel altogether.” Grenna shrugged, letting out a long breath.

“Lilmoth would have been farther and less accessible, should anyone seek you out. Why did you stop in Stormhold?” His thumb ran very distractingly over her knuckles.

“I can’t say for sure…it just felt like I should, like maybe I could be useful here. I don’t have a _tangible_ reason.” The sensation of her own thoughts having not been her own, urging her to take refuge here in this place, amongst these people, had been disconcerting _and_ somehow comforting.

“Then, there is a reason you just haven’t been shown yet.” He put his free hand over hers. “I think, though, that I offended you with my questions.”

“Why are you so concerned with me forgiving you?” She blinked, her heart beating faster again, but not for the same reason as before.

“I hope we might become friends. I wouldn’t want to lose the only person who can look me in the eye and isn’t afraid to touch me.” With that, he released her hand and took his shirt from the bed, pulling it on again.

“Oh, I see. Um…I have your other shirt…” Grenna murmured and turned to get it from the shelf. Selaer was close again when she turned back, fastening the belt at his waist. He took the mended garment from her.

“Thank you for your help. Truly, you _are_ a friend to the Saxhleel.” He put a hand on her shoulder then, as she stared after him with no idea what to say, he left, closing the door softly behind him.


	3. The Giving Hist...and a Notebook

Grenna stared into space, her mind free to wander as she washed dishes at the tavern. The menial nature of such work would have been dull and tedious, was she not prone to slipping away into her own thoughts. She imagined having an actual dwelling of her own built, what it would be like. Probably not made out of mud. She didn’t mind it, of course, but having spent the whole of her life in rectangular rooms, the familiarity of flat walls and corners appealed to her.

She pictured a cabin, perhaps, with maybe three rooms. One room to use for healing and medicine, another as a living space, and the last as a bedchamber. _Selaer_. There was a good chance Grenna could make a satisfying living off providing care for the people of Stormhold…or wherever else she might end up. Probably somewhere else in the Black Marsh, if not Shadowfen, mostly because she doubted anyone would think to even look there. _Selaer_.

The cabin would have shelves and cabinets in her medicine room, as well as plenty of table space to work on. She’d be able to have a rack just for the various sizes of mortar and pestle she’d like. _Selaer_. The living space would have an area for cooking, food storage, and bookshelves, probably somewhere comfortable to sit…the possibilities were endless.

Oh, and a comfortable bed with an area behind a screen where she could put a deep tub to soak in. She’d only need a small armoire since she didn’t need much by way of clothes. In her mind’s eye, Grenna could see it all. But then Selaer was sitting at the edge of the bed, looking at her. _What?_ She frowned, and he started taking off his shirt. _Oh no_. His muscles flexed beneath his dark green scales.

“GRENNA!”

Startled from the house fantasy gone awry, Grenna jerked backward, and the plate in her hand slipped from her grip and shattered on the floor.

“Oh, no.” She whispered and looked up to see Ahdra with her arms folded and head tilted to one side. “Sorry…I…”

“Where was your head off to this time?”

“I was thinking about the sort of house I’d like to have someday.” It was mostly the truth, though delivered too quickly.

“Is that so? Does home construction always make your cheeks so red?”

“What?” Grenna blinked, her face getting warmer. “No, I…”

“I presume Selaer found you yesterday? I can tell because your eyes have been glazed over all day like they were last week after he came here.” Ahdra gave an amused snort then laughed outright. “And the fact that your face is all but on fire!”

“It’s quite warm in here, that’s all.” Grenna huffed, mortified that she was so transparent. “And yes, your brother found me. His wounds are healed, so I don’t know why he bothered.”

“Interesting that he told you we are egg-siblings.” Ahdra stroked her chin.

“He didn’t have much choice considering the rude question I’d asked beforehand,” Grenna muttered and bent, picking up the broken plate fragments.

“I can’t get him to say five words most of the time.”

“He kept his clothes on this time, at least.” Grenna let out a long breath, setting the shards aside as Ahdra laughed again. “Most of them.”

“Is that disappointment I hear in your voice?”

“What?” Grenna spluttered, reaching for any possible way to allow herself the illusion of inscrutability. “No, of course not!”

“Maybe this is part of why the Hist brought you here.”

“The Hist? There are no Hist trees in High Rock, to my knowledge, and I cannot think that it would care very much about what I do, I’m not Argonian.” The concept that the Hist trees were interconnected, sentient beings was one that Grenna was still working to wrap her head around. She didn’t think it was impossible, it was simply unlike anything she’d encountered before.

“Everything is connected, and the wisdom of the Hist is older than any race living on the face of Nirn.” Ahdra gave a nod. “Everything happens in its own time.

The sun was setting when Grenna left the Coin Brothers for the day. Rather than returning directly to her rented hut, she made her way to the center of Stormhold, where their Hist tree grew. It wasn’t particularly big, as far as trees go, and she’d heard that some grew to immense size. It wasn’t flowering, but she didn’t know why. It was one growing thing that her knowledge did not encompass. She remembered these trees being mentioned, but it was always texts written by man or mer who had no in-depth understanding of them anyway.

“Did _you_ bring me here?” She whispered, barely audible. “Is _that_ why I stopped in Stormhold?” There were no sounds but the songs of evening birds and the vendors closing up their shops for the night. “And just _what_ is all this nonsense with _Selaer_?” She hissed at the Hist. She wanted to touch its bark or gather some of the sap but feared being regarded as irreverent or disrespectful to the things sacred to the Saxhleel.

“It is not often that outsiders speak to the Hist.” A female Argonian in colorful, feathered garb, came around the tree. Grenna stared at her, not exactly pleased to have been overheard.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend…” She took a step back away from the tree.

“You’ve caused no offense. It is refreshing, in fact, that one such as yourself would whisper questions to the Hist. Others usually mutter their demands for explanations and the revealing of secrets about the trees.” The Argonian had a pleasant look about her. “Apologies, I am Tree-Minder Mimna, and you are the healer who does not care to give her name, so I won’t ask it.”

“Well, at Coin Brothers, I am called Sid.”

“Don’t worry, you don’t have to explain yourself.” Mimna gave a deep nod. “It isn’t necessary. You have a good heart, and good hearts are welcome here regardless of their name.”

“Erm…thanks. I’m glad.” Grenna fidgeted. “You won’t…tell anyone what I said, will you?”

“No, of course not.” The Tree-Minder shook her head, looking solemn. “What is spoken in private remains that way, but…Selaer Xerne is inscrutable, even to me.”

Grenna watched the Tree-Minder take her leave and then peered again at the Hist tree. She’d meant to ask if touching it was allowed. Oh well, next time. She exhaled a long breath.

 _Pah!_ The inscrutable Selaer Xerne…it was the truth, though, so far as she could tell. He was probably lurking nearb—

“You can touch it.”

Yes. Of _course_ , he was. Grenna was surprised and unsurprised at the same time. Who else could elicit such a confusing response?

“Do they teach mind reading as well at the Sneaky School for Spooky Assassins?” She narrowed her eyes at Selaer as he stepped up beside her.

“No.” One side of his mouth turned up a tiny bit, crest rising slightly. “It’s just always fairly easy to determine what you want.”

“Always?” She scoffed, indignantly, then balked at the implication. _Oh no_. “We’ve met and spoken two entire times. That hardly seems like enough time to qualify anything with _always_.”

“Well…” He paused as though deciding how to say something. It was what people often did when they were about to utter some potentially upsetting thing. He didn’t need to, though, Grenna already knew what he was going to say.

“But you’ve been lurking about and have seen me more than I’ve seen you?”

“Yes.” At least he was honest.

“You know, where I’m from, such behavior could easily be misconstrued. All manner of suppositions might be wrought from a man…male…creeping about, watching a woman.”

“You’re interesting, and I have a curious mind.” Selaer shrugged.

“Curious, suspicious…not much difference where you’re concerned, I’d wager,” Grenna muttered, glancing up at the Hist again. Maybe this tree really was where the thought came from when she’d first entered the village, the thing inside her that said _take refuge here_. “Have you acquired some other injury that needs tending?” The question seemed more polite than _what do you want_.

“No. I came to say hello, and talk.” No doubt Selaer Xerne was as social as Grenna was stealthy. She sized him up for a moment, one brow arched.

“Talk? About what? The secret, enigmatic hopes and dreams of a Shadowscale?” She paused, her own curiosity piqued. “What sorts of hopes and dreams _do_ Shadowscales have, anyway? Is there some special weapon or something you hope to acquire? A blade of magnificent quality that’ll just slip between the ribs like a hot knife through butter? Or perhaps a list of targets you aim to take out before you die in what will likely be a horrible, violent manner?” He laughed aloud then, and privately Grenna felt a tiny twinge of pride. She’d amused the very serious, brooding assassin who all in the village feared.

“No, nothing so complicated or clandestine.” He told her and stepped closer, then reached out, placing his palm against the Hist.

“The simple life, then?” She asked quietly.

“Had I hatched one day later, I might, instead, be just a farmer, or carver perhaps. An artisan.”

“Oh? With a wife and hatchlings and all that?” Grenna watched him in what she had once thought to be a subtle manner, but as Selaer had pointed out, she lacked subtlety.

“And all that.” He gave a chuckle. “Perhaps.”

“I suppose the life of a Shadowscale is not very conducive to having a family.” She nodded.

“Some do it. I don’t.” There was a long pause, and Grenna finally dared to reach out and touch the bark of the Hist. First, her fingertips, and then her whole hand. She could feel it, it was a living thing, something much bigger than simply being a tree.

“Wow…” She breathed.

“Do you hope for a family?” Selaer asked her, and without hesitation, she shook her head.

“Have you ever seen a human infant? They’re horrible. Even worse is watching them be born; _what_ a nightmare. I don’t mind the children once they’ve grown a bit and can walk and talk and cease defecating in their pants. I used to think it might be nice to have someone, but…”

“The accident?”

“Yes. The male nobles of High Rock don’t line up as suitors for the girl whose face was ruined.” Her tone was light, but then she glanced up at Selaer again, expecting to see perhaps pity, but there was none. Not that he was especially expressive, being Argonian and all. “It’s not really a bad thing if you think about it. I was never interested in being bartered for political or financial purposes.” The silence stretched on, and she squirmed internally.

“Your face isn’t ruined.” He moved his hand, placing it over Grenna’s, and the instant his skin touched hers, she gasped as her mind was bombarded with flashes of images she didn’t understand. Feelings, thoughts…so many that she couldn’t pinpoint one thing in particular.

When it stopped, she blinked, finding that she was flat on her back, breathing hard, and Selaer was knelt beside her, concern in his eyes. She didn’t remember falling down.

“What happened?” He glanced around briefly.

“I don’t really know…but I think I probably _shouldn’t_ touch the Hist again…” Shaken and trembling slightly, Grenna let him hoist her to her feet, where she brushed herself off. “I saw and heard things, but nothing I can identify…”

“Interesting.” He murmured, taking her face between his hands as he peered at her as though examining some strange thing he’d never seen before. “You can’t recall anything?”

“I don’t know…trees? The feel of the wind.” Grenna blinked slowly, some of what had been so abruptly thrust into her mind becoming a little clearer. “It was as if my legs were in the ground, and the dirt felt wonderful, and I was stretched so far…and the…” She inhaled sharply, pressing her hands to her belly. “…the sensation…of the flowers blossoming…”

“The Hist spoke to you. You felt what it feels. That’s an extraordinary gift. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of man or mer communing with the Hist before.” Selaer mused.

“It happened when you touched my hand, I think it must have been meant for you. I’m of no importance here…”

“If it was meant for me, I would have experienced it.” He seemed very certain.

“I don’t understand why _I_ would see anything, though…” Grenna shook her head, wobbling a little on her feet and grabbed Selaer’s arms for balance. The sun had dipped below the tree line, and the shadows grew longer and darker. “I should get home.”

“I’ll walk with you.”

“Why? Because some tragedy might befall me between here and the hut?” She narrowed her eyes at him.

“Obviously, that’s a real possibility.” He chuckled softly.

“I haven’t been killed or maimed so far, so I think you don’t have to worry quite so much.” She smiled though, looking down, still thinking about the strange visions the Hist had pummeled into her mind.

“I enjoy your company,” Selaer said at last. “Which does not happen often.” She enjoyed his company too, despite not knowing him very well. He was unexpectedly pleasing to look upon and to touch when the occasion called for it. Naturally, being shrouded in mystery made him that much more interesting.

“Alright, if you insist, I don’t mind if you walk with me.” A half-truth, she wanted very much for him to walk with her, and to keep talking, and to know more things about him. Selaer took Grenna’s hand as they moved away from the Hist tree and crossed the bridge to the other side of the village. Obviously, he was merely ensuring she didn’t fall down again.

Neither of them had said a word on the journey between the Hist and Grenna’s little hut. He paused outside the door, though, as she opened it.

“Did you want to come in?” The words, intended to carry no weight or hidden meaning, slipped out effortlessly. As Selaer’s crest stood upright, she realized how it sounded. Too late now, beet-red face or not. She’d invited him in, and there was the part of her that had started to panic, and the other part of her hoping he agreed. Not that she was looking for anything beyond simple conversation at present.

Ahdra was right, Grenna was a “maid” still, not that she thought it mattered. The value placed on whether or not a woman had lain with a man seemed ridiculous. Her concern did not lie with the potential of _losing_ something, or being changed in some way, should she eventually find herself in a situation where indeed she did share a man’s bed. She had no experience, and it was an unknown that couldn’t be understood through others’ explanations of it.

Gah! Forcefully, she shoved all such thoughts firmly from mind. She’d never been so preoccupied or distracted by these things before.

“Yes.” Selaer gave a nod, and she opened the door the rest of the way, allowing him to step in. Her heart started beating faster as she closed it and then set her bag on the small table.

“I like that I can hear the stream. It’s nice. Relaxing…serene.” She murmured, taking off her jacket and hanging it on a peg in the wall. “So, what do you do here? Besides striking fear into the hearts of the citizens.” He sat on the edge of her bed, looking at her. Her daydream from earlier came to mind, but he wasn’t taking his shirt off. Grenna wasn’t sure she’d have even the slightest inkling what to do if he did. Her fidgeting grew worse as she needlessly straightened was few items were on the table.

“I do whatever is needed, whether it requires the…unique skills I possess or something as simple as helping neighbors with building or anything else. We serve as arbitrators for disputes, enforcers of the law. Anything to serve the Saxhleel.” He explained.

“You do so much for them, yet they fear you?”

“The children seem not to, anymore.” He made an amused sort of sound. “As I went about my business, there were several that followed me around the town, though still careful to stay a few paces away.”

“I guess I didn’t think about whether or not you wanted them to be wary of you. I hope I didn’t misstep…”

“No, children should know not to fear those who serve as protection.”

“Oh, good.” Grenna exhaled relief. “I thought about it later, and I hadn’t even asked, I was just doing…I am trying very hard to be as respectful to the fen and the people here and all the things that are important to the Saxhleel.” She started wringing her hands a little. “I’m a guest here, a status I treat as precarious at best…”

“You overthink, Grenna.” He took her wringing hands in one of his, stopping the anxious movement. “You didn’t come here to take anything from anyone. That is enough.”

“Yes, well, you weren’t so sure of that last time you were here, were you?” The feel of his hand, his skin touching hers, was distracting.

“Show me something that matters to you.” Selaer changed the subject, interrupting the unpleasant rumination.

“Oh, um…” Glancing around, her eyes fell to the thick book where she kept most of her notes. “Well, there’s this, I suppose…I don’t know how interesting you might find my notes, but I have a lot of questions and thoughts scribbled down about the plant life here in the fen.” Stepping back from him, she snatched up the book and then sat on the bed next to him, flipping open to the section she’d begun when she’d first arrived to Stormhold. “I’ve made sketches as well, mostly of the things I haven’t been able to identify yet. Some things I’ve read about, but there are many more that are still mysteries. Surely being an assassin, you must know the properties of many plants.”

“That is true.” He nodded. “Most of my knowledge, as you might expect, centers around the harmful botanical effects of the things that grow in the fen.”

“Well, yes, of course. But my knowledge of poisons and potions is as extensive, if not more so, than my skill with poultices.”

“A strange hobby for a noble girl.”

“I’m not a noble girl any longer, now am I?” Grenna smirked. “It just happened that way. I showed skill with healing, and one thing led to another, and I was learning more than just the helpful properties of various reagents.” She turned the page, which brought her to the log entry she’d made about treating Selaer the night he came to the tavern after being stabbed. “Generally, I take notes about all my patients…look, I can’t imagine this is at all interesting for you…”

“What’s this?” He reached over, pointing one finger at a scribbled note along the edge. Grenna squinted at it, turning the book a little.

— _On a less professional note, when the Argonian assassin, who called himself Selaer, removed his clothing, I found myself unusually intrigued! Though I am loathe to admit being subject to base desire of any sort, I am just a human, after all, and thus my biology is simply designed to react to things I seem to find appealing. An entry for another time, I think…but he was quite different about the groin area than what I’ve seen. Perhaps my revulsion of male genitalia is limited to human men, and I feel more inclined to explore that of a male such as him. I’m very tired. Goodnight.—_

A strangled sort of sound escaped her, and Grenna snapped the book shut on his hand. How… _how_ had she not remembered that was there?! Never had she yearned so strongly for the ground to open beneath her feet and swallow her up.

“Apologies.” She whispered. “The unhinged ramblings of my very tired self…by all the gods do I wish that had not been there.” Selaer pulled his hand out of the book, and though she couldn’t bring herself to look at him, the whole of her body blushing crimson no doubt, she was sure he was watching her.

“Not to worry, it’s nothing I wasn’t already aware of.” He sounded _amused._

“What?” Her head whipped around, then dread crept in. Did he actually think her invitation had been for something _else?_ Grenna cleared her throat and got to her feet. “Um…”

“That’s not why I’m here.”

“Oh.” She _really_ needed to work on reining in her face.

“You sound disappointed.”

“WHAT? No, of course not, I…that is…why are you…” She spluttered as he chuckled.

“Show me what other things you’ve discovered in Shadowfen so far.” He patted the spot where she’d been sitting. “Plants, I mean.” The red in her face refreshed, but she sat down. “I won’t bite.” Grenna cast him a level look, and he smirked. “Unless you ask me to.”


	4. That shirt is see-through, you know.

A loud crack of thunder woke Grenna with a start, blinking sleepily into the darkness. She really didn’t care for storms, a feeling which was further exacerbated by her being in a comparatively unsafe mud hut. The creek was rushing louder, or was that the wind? Both. It was both most assuredly. She sat up and rubbed her eyes, needing to relieve herself, though she didn’t want to go outside. Then, unexpectedly, she felt wet.

Grenna gave a yelp, at first thinking she’d somehow become incontinent, but then water rose up over the edge of her bed. As thunder violently cracked again, she cried out and jumped up, standing on the now sodden blankets. It was a flood…the creek was pouring in through the door, which, of course, was not tightly sealed.

“Oh no, oh no, oh no…” Lightning flashed, and she saw the water rising steadily. She needed to get her medicine chest and get out _fast_. Jumping down off the bed and into the water, it was much colder than she expected, and she inhaled sharply. _Please don’t let the poisonous snakes and critters take refuge in here_. That would be just her luck, death by some creature in the midst of a damned flood!

Wading through the nearly waist-deep and deepening water, Grenna grabbed her satchel and slung it across her chest then picked up the medicine chest by its handles. It felt heavier than usual, somehow. Perhaps it was because she was frightened and didn’t like deep water _or_ thunderstorms. Her heart was hammering as she tried to grab a couple other things. Her clothes chest was fully submerged, and so that was a loss, she’d simply need to get more clothes. They weren’t very important. But she’d worked too hard to collect so many reagents to let them get washed away.

The water was rising too quickly though, the sound of it rushing with the wind elevated Grenna’s anxiousness to fear. She pulled on the door, but it didn’t budge. Fear became panic, and she pulled harder, trying to keep hold of the medicine chest. The water rose several inches very fast, and panic grew to terror. She didn’t even realize she was screaming…that she was calling out for help until her throat felt raw.

Really? This was it? _Here_ is where she would meet her end? To drown…she would suffer. It was one of her greatest fears. An Argonian would be fine, they could breathe underwater. A dumb human girl had no chance. A sob escaped, but she kept calling. She’d survived so much and come so far…this couldn’t be it.

She would die free, at least.

No. The thought wasn’t even slightly comforting, she didn’t want to die at all!

The water was almost up to Grenna’s shoulders, and she wished Selaer was there, he’d be able to get her out. He could even claw through the mud if he had to.

_The mud._

Grenna gasped, realizing that this much water _had_ to compromise the structural integrity of the mud walls. First, with her chest still under one arm, she pushed against the window covering, a frame wrapped in animal hide, but it didn’t budge. Then she started to push lower, shoving with one foot as best she could against an area that had been exposed to the water longer. It gave very slightly, and she felt a shimmer of hope as the water rose to her neck. What kind of storm brought _this_ much water?

A storm in the bloody Black Marsh, that’s what.

The wall wasn’t giving more, and she lacked the strength to push harder. The shimmer of hope evaporated as an anguished sound tore from her throat.

All at once, the wall gave out, and the support above it collapsed. The current sucked Grenna down and out as pieces of hut struck her. She tried holding her breath, watching through murky water for lightning, anything that would tell her what way was up.

Mud beneath her feet…she pushed upward and gulped air when her face broke the surface. Her medicine chest was gone, but the bag was still on her. She had her life, at least, for now.

Everything was darkness, but when the lightning flashed, everything was water. There were shadows of structures in Stormhold, though the water was carrying her away. She tried to call out again, even though she didn’t see anyone.

A low hanging branch came fast, and she tried to grab it, maybe pull herself up, but missed. Her head struck something hard, then there was just blackness, and even the thunder was gone.

* * *

The gardens of the Sidoric Estate had long been claimed as one of the most beautiful in all of Glenumbra, if not High Rock entirely. They were open to the public sometimes, who would come to see the topiaries and exotic flower beds. The gardener who maintained it was an impossibly old woman, one who’d taken a special shine to Grenna. That was where she started learning herbs, and how she found that there were more useful plants in the grungy kitchen garden and the woods than in the stunning floral expanse that symbolized Sidoric pride.

Lords and ladies would stroll the stone-paved paths, even some of the lower folk from town came, too. Depending what time of day it was, they might see a dirty little girl with leaves and twigs in her dark hair go running by, barefoot in a once-fine now-muddy dress, sometimes being chased by a very flustered maid.

The sun felt so warm and wonderful on Grenna’s face, the grass lush and thick beneath her feet. And how she laughed when her sisters would shriek when they found their dressing table draws full of whatever critters little Grenna could get her hands on.

One sound beating was all it took for her to straighten up. Her parents were so pleased that their punishment had worked and that she’d decided to behave like a proper lady as befit her station and their name. But she hadn’t, really. She pretended to comply and caused all her mischief in secret instead. The gardener told her every day to deceive them if she must but never allow herself to be broken. They could never touch or change who she was inside unless she let them.

They didn’t break her.

She’d been on her way to be introduced to a prospective husband when the carriage axel snapped. It had seemed so fortunate, they’d have to go back home. Then _help_ arrived. These _helpers_ had not broken her either, not even when they cut her face. Prospective husbands weren’t interested in her after that. A ruined face they could overlook if the dowry was grand enough, and hers was astounding. But apparently, no gold was so tempting as to accept a woman they assumed had been raped by a group of men. _Damaged goods_. Grenna loathed the value placed on the perceived thing they called virginity. It had been their intent to assault her sexually, but they never got the opportunity before…something scared them off.

All that was gone now, High Rock was far away. The lush grass beneath her feet was mud between her toes. Flower gardens were now gaping carnivorous plants. Lords and ladies were mysterious Argonians. And the old gardener woman…who was she? No, _what_ was she?

The truth wove itself through Grenna, and it pulled her upward and out of the dark stew of painful memories. Everything was new…

* * *

Grenna inhaled sharply, giving a violent twitch as she woke up. Her vision was blurry, but she was warm and dry. It wasn’t her hut, though. So, the flood hadn’t been just a terrible dream. Well, she wasn’t dead at least, but she didn’t know where she was, or how long it had been, only that she’d been dreaming about the gardens in High Rock.

She blinked her eyes, the room coming into focus. It was a mud house, rather than a hut, and it was quite spacious. At the moment, she lay in a bed a good deal wider than hers had been. There were dividing walls that hid this sleeping area from the rest of the place. An earthy scent punctuated with the sharp tang of herbs permeated the home.

Herbs… _oh, no_. The medicine chest was gone. She’d be forced to start from scratch. Remembering her bag, she sat up quickly. It was hanging from a rack across the way, looking battered as always. The fur coverlet slid down, alerting Grenna very suddenly of her state of undress. Looking beneath the blanket, she found she was completely naked, in fact. Her long, dark hair was down, but it was clean…brushed even. Actually, all of her was clean. No mud, no dirt…though there were various scrapes and bruises from her _adventur_ e in the flood. She’d been undressed, washed, and cared for.

 _Whose house is this?!_ She knew the answer, though. Who _else_ would have taken her in? But she needed to know for sure.

“Hello?” She called, waiting for any reply or movement, but was met with silence. She was alone. Slipping out of bed without making a sound, she started pulling open drawers in the bureau near the bed. It was half out of curiosity and half out of a desperate need to find something to wear.

Shirts! They were folded neatly, and she picked a black one, pulling it from its place and unfolding it. Sure enough, there was her stitch work. This would do and was fitting, really.

So, _this_ was Selaer’s house. Safe from the flood, apparently.

Grenna pulled the shirt on then slowly looked around her. What had she been expecting? Not somewhere that seemed quite so cozy, and perhaps some arsenal of weapons. Trophies? The heads of his enemies mounted to the walls? No, he was an assassin, not a warrior.

She stepped out of the bedchamber area and saw a long, low table that seemed to serve as a counter of sorts, with various foodstuffs on its shelves. There was a dining table with benches, then off to the other side of the round dwelling was a bookshelf, seating, and rugs. There were many rugs on the floor, in fact, covering up the dirt.

It was probably rude to poke about his personal belongings, but he’d stripped her down, bathed her, and put her in his bed. Fair was fair. Grenna went to the bookshelf and pulled one out, flipping it open. To her astonishment, it was a novel. Somehow she’d figured it would be some assassin-related text like Best Methods for Killing, or The Secret to a Perfect Stab. Careful to put it back where it was, she checked a couple more that also ended up being creative works of fiction. The assassin liked stories.

When the door opened suddenly, Grenna jumped, hastily returning the book in her hand to its place as Selaer stepped in. He plainly wasn’t expecting her to be up and about as his eyes widened briefly, his crest standing completely erect. His clothes were simple linen, so he hadn’t been out assassinating anyone. Probably. Maybe? Well…clothes were no good indicator at all if he had an assignment, perhaps, that required him to look harmless. It would likely be better not to think about it.

“Nice books.” She said, internally berating herself. For the last ten minutes, she’d been silently rehearsing some snappy, witty thing to say to him upon his arrival. Selaer said nothing, just staring at her as she stood there in nothing but his shirt. Slowly, he closed the door and blinked, clearing his throat.

“How do you feel?” His eyes lighted on the bookshelf. He could tell she’d been looking through his literature.

“A little battered perhaps, but not altogether terrible. How long was I unconscious?” Her fidgeting started as she toyed with the hem of the shirt, which hung low at her thighs.

“The flood was the night before last. Your hut washed away entirely. I tried to find some more of your belongings, but everything either went downstream or was buried in mud.” He looked apologetic, but she didn’t blame him, of course. He’d done far more than she would have asked of him anyway.

“I figured as much. I got my satchel, though. That was the most important bit.” Grenna squirmed under his gaze. “I’ll have to have a new chest made, though. New bottles, new…” She sighed heavily. “All my notebooks are gone.”

“And your clothes.” He offered unhelpfully. Grenna turned a deep shade of red immediately, as he no doubt knew she would.

“Yes, thank you. And all my clothes. Otherwise, I would _not_ be standing here wearing _your_ shirt.” She folded her arms.

“Why that shirt?”

“I thought it was funny.” She muttered and glanced around, feeling a little trapped in the corner. “Was anyone else hurt?”

“No. Ahdra keeps asking after you, a couple others have asked her as well if you were swept away with the hut.”

“Do they know I’m _here_?” It wasn’t potential scandal that had her worried, Argonians didn’t care much about such things, but she didn’t want anyone to become fearful around her like many still were with Selaer.

“Just Ahdra.” He cleared his throat again and tearing his eyes off her, went to the kitchen area. “Hungry?”

“A little.” She lied. Her stomach was nearly in danger of eating itself if she didn’t put something in it soon. She was getting the feeling, though, that for some reason, Selaer was uncomfortable. Was it because she was wearing his shirt? There weren’t any other options, really. He’d pulled out a plate and a loaf of bread, then a wedge of cheese.

“I’d thought to put a soup together, but this will have to do for now.” He began cutting the bread, and Grenna stepped up beside him.

“What time is it?”

“Evening.” Selaer arranged the items on the plate and grabbed a wooden cup from a shelf, filling it with water from the water-skin hanging on the wall in front of him.

“I should thank you for having taken such good care of me…” The last time she and Selaer had seen one another was two nights before the flood when he’d come to her hut and watched her repeatedly embarrass herself whilst showing off her medicinal notes. He was aware of the affinity she had for him, as she was utterly transparent, according to him. She’d have expected to have such attraction taken advantage of, but he’d been perfectly polite. A tiny part of her wished he’d be just a little less polite, as she was much too nervous to initiate anything.

“You should, but you aren’t going to? Or, you should, and you are?” He glanced down at her, giving a bit of a smirk.

“I should, and I am, of course…I’ve got no reason not to, I thought I was going to die. And here I am. Not dead.”

“I thought perhaps you were upset that you woke up…undressed.”

“No, I imagine I was covered in gunk, and well, who wants a gunk-covered girl in their bed. To rest. To recuperate, I mean.” Grenna chewed the inside of her cheek a little. “Besides, saves me the trouble of having to see what your face does seeing me naked for the first time.”

“Are you implying there will be a second time?” He took the bread and cheese to the table. She stared at him, trying to think of an answer, aiming for witty, but knowing full well she’d miss her mark entirely. “Though, I suppose that’s now.”

“Now? I’m not naked _now_.”

“That shirt is see-through, you know.”

“What? It is not…” Grenna looked down at herself and gasped. The black linen was much thinner than she thought. It hadn’t looked see-through on him the night he was all bloodied up. But then, his skin was dark green, and she bore the complexion of an exsanguinated corpse. The plight of hailing from a northern clime. She put her hands over her breasts and looked up at Selaer, cheeks burning. He’d _already_ undressed her, washed her, and had been looking at her for the last few minutes in this state. It was a little late for modesty, so she let her arms fall to her sides. “I suppose that explains your squirmy gawking.” She muttered.

“You’re not unpleasant to look at.” He shrugged, put the cup of water in her hands, and motioned to the table. “Eat.”

“Wow, that’s quite a compliment.” Grenna rolled her eyes and sat down, grabbing a piece of cheese. “You don’t make my eyes bleed _either_ , Selaer.” She felt strangely brave; perhaps it was the mostly nakedness.

“It seemed the least potentially offensive thing that came to mind.” He went back over to the counter and pulled out a large stoneware crock, then lit the fire in the stone fireplace in the wall. It was a very un-Argonian fireplace since most chose to have a cooking fire at the center of their hut where the smoke would rise out through a vent in the roof.

“Well, now I’m curious what the more offensive things were.” She chewed a piece of bread, finding it surprisingly soft and delicious. He peered at her a moment, one brow-ridge arched a little, crest half-raised, then produced several root vegetables from a drawer as well as a little knife and started cutting.

“Alright, my first thought upon seeing you as I came in was that I’d like to have you on your back on that table, then I’d see if the rest of you blushes as much as your face does.”

Grenna inhaled the bite she’d just taken, wedging it in her throat, and she coughed, unable to quite breathe. Selaer stepped over, thumping her on the back until it dislodged.

“Well, I’m not offended.” She wheezed, then gulped water, but he gave her a level look.

“You almost choked to death on your cheese.” Selaer returned to chopping vegetables. A long silence stretched on, and she knew she’d need to say _something_ lest he think she had been scandalized by so bold a statement. Why did he hold back? Did he never act on impulse? She likely wouldn’t like him quite so much if he just _did_ things like that, though, without knowing if she wanted him to.

“So, you…are you going to?” She pushed the bread and cheese idly around the plate.

“Going to what?”

“Do that.” Chancing a look up at him, he watched her, her ears burning hot, of course. She hoped maybe a time would come where every little thing didn’t set her skin aflame.

“Only if you ask me to.” He was only saying that because he knew she _wouldn’t_ ask him to. Would serve him right, though, if she did. Perhaps he’d be the one shocked for once! _Do it. Do it do it do it_ , some debauched little part of her chanted.

But no, she was a coward. What was she afraid of, though?! He didn’t scare her, she would happily while away hours merely looking at him, the few times they’d touched made the very core of her being practically hum with a never-before-experienced molten longing. She’d never wanted anyone before, and in her history of wanting anything at all, she’d never wanted quite this much. It was the unknowns, however, that stilled her tongue from verbalizing her wishes. She’d witnessed plenty of people in the midst of physical intimacy, and they seemed to enjoy it a great deal. What if she didn’t? What if she hated it? Grenna liked Selaer, though, could that have something to do with the likelihood of enjoying the act? True, she didn’t know him very well yet, but when he wasn’t making her blush, he made her feel safe, and like she belonged. Those things meant a great deal to her.

“Here.” Selaer suddenly shoved a book into her hands. “This should distract you from your catastrophizing.”

“What? I’m not…” Yes. Yes, she was. She opened the book and found a text on Black Marsh botany with copious notes, sketches, and diagrams. “Oh! Where’d you get this?” Grenna glanced to where he was still assembling the soup, and he said nothing. “Oh. Well, there’s no blood on it, at least.” She muttered, turning the pages, reasonably sure that she wouldn’t have cared overmuch if there was.

Selaer was very clever, knowing precisely what would divert Grenna’s attention. She was grateful for the distraction, though, and pored over the book until the soup was done. He’d obviously spent time outside the Black Marsh, considering how he seasoned the soup. It had a more familiar taste than the Argonian fare she’d been growing accustomed to since coming to Stormhold.

It was growing later, however, and despite having been unconscious for an entire day, Grenna caught herself yawning and tried to stifle it. Selaer saw her, though, and put out a couple of the candles. Until that moment, the sleeping arrangements somehow hadn’t occurred to her, and she wondered where he’d slept whilst an invalid was taking up his bed.

“I’ll sleep out here…” He started.

“Stop _doing_ that!” Grenna huffed. “I get it, everything I think is loud and clear on my damnable glass face.”

“I thought it made it easier if you didn’t have to say what you were thinking, apologies.” He shrugged one shoulder, and she felt bad.

“No, I…sorry. I’m not very good at _saying_ things, but I do prefer to say them myself. However awkward I might make it. And it seems ridiculous, don’t you think, for you not to sleep in your own bed?”

“No guest of mine is going to sleep on the floor.”

“That's...not what I meant. I understand, though, if you’re afraid I might molest you in your sleep.” She offered casually and was pleased when he laughed outright.


	5. Already Decided

Any and all traces of fatigue had vanished the instant she stepped into Selaer’s sleeping quarters. Grenna couldn’t help but wonder if they were going to bed, or if they were _going to bed_. Selaer had made his interest clear, so the choice ultimately was hers. Still clad in his very thin shirt, she lay on the left side of the bed, staring directly above her. Her soon-to-be bedfellow was putting out the candles, and her eyes followed the darkness as he moved toward the bedchamber. Was it a chamber, though? Bed…area? Sleeping place…? It didn’t matter.

He knew she was watching him, and she knew he knew. Acting had never been one of her talents, though she’d made a token effort to appear asleep. There was only one small lamp Selaer left burning on the edge of the fireplace mantle, and as he pulled his shirt over his head, Grenna’s eyes popped wide open. The shadows cast across him by the dim lamp seemed to highlight his physique as he moved, dropping the shirt on the chest at the foot of the bed. With his back to her, his hands went to the waist of his breeches; unconsciously, she held her breath. He changed his mind, though, and reached for a cloth hanging on a peg. Bending down, he wet the cloth in the water bucket and started washing up.

There was a small cabinet near his bath area, and once finished, he opened it. Grenna stared in fascination, as she had never witnessed the nightly routine of a Saxhleel. It was unlikely that many like her ever had, but she tried, without much success, not to gawk. Selaer opened a small jar, took a dab of whatever substance was inside, rubbed it between his hands then ran them over his spiny crest. The scent of palm wafted in her direction. Argonian skin required very different care than man or mer, of course. Thinking about it seemed initially a little silly, but Grenna brushed away the thought. It was a small-minded thing to apply human ideas to someone _not_ -human.

He picked up a different jar, one larger than the first, but paused before putting it back and selecting another. He rubbed some of its contents on his hands again then quickly went over his arms, shoulders, chest, neck, and feet. He glanced back, as though to ask a question, but seemed to decide against it. She had a feeling it was an abbreviated routine, as typically, the preferred compounds for Argonian skincare contained herbs that were extremely irritating to human skin.

“Entertained?” He asked quietly, turning back toward the bed.

“Wouldn’t that be ignorant and boorish of me? I was curious is all…” She looked away, having not meant to offend.

“I don’t mind if you watch, though I wouldn’t think it’s very interesting.”

“It would be a good deal more interesting if you weren’t wearing pants.” Grenna could hardly believe herself and immediately wondered just who she was and what had happened to the person who sought to keep such thoughts from falling _out_ of her mouth. “Er…”

“You should think less about what you say more often, it’s intriguing to hear your unfiltered thoughts.” Selaer went on, massaging the lotion into his skin. He wasn’t doing anything overtly erotic by any means, but she could feel a flush creeping across her skin.

“I’d be in a lot more trouble a lot more often if I took _that_ advice.” Once upon a time, perhaps, she’d been much freer with her speech. The consequences, though, had kept her quiet about many things for many years. Though now, she could be herself again. “I’m sorry if you’ve changed your routine on account of me…” She felt a bit bad about it, but Selaer gave a dismissive wave and turned the lamp down farther. He came toward the bed, and the butterflies in Grenna’s stomach burst into flame as he flipped back the coverlet.

Did Argonians lie on their backs or their fronts? Sides? How did they sleep? Where did they put their tails? Selaer didn’t have any wildly protruding horns, what did they use for pillows if they did? Was it true that they filled their pillowcases with bugs for the wriggling sensation? It at least had not seemed the case in _this_ bed. Grenna had checked; there were just some places that insects did not belong. Now was _not_ the time to mull these things over, though.

She resumed staring straight up as he climbed in at her right. He was on his back, pulling the cover up. So, that question was answered but then shifted to his left side, facing her. It was probably more comfortable for his tail that way.

At least the dark hid the heightened color of her face. Darkness hid a great deal, actually. The lamp cast only a faint glow, enough to keep her from tripping over anything if she needed to get up. Darkness and the peace that came with night had always been calming. The anxious hammering in Grenna’s chest slowed somewhat as her mind wandered a bit to more serious things.

She’d nearly died in that flood. All she had now was her life and a waterlogged leather satchel. Everything else material that had mattered was gone, and it forced her to start over. She wanted to live a life free to make her own choices, to be happy or miserable so long as she could choose. A few months earlier, such a thing didn’t seem even remotely possible. Now, anything was possible, the world was _real_. Her own mortality was real as well. Nothing was guaranteed. Little frightened her for the most part. Sure, violent storms and deep water did, but the thought of not being allowed to do as she wished was the truly terrifying thing. It was foolish to hesitate anymore.

There was no decision to make; Grenna had made it well before this night, even if she hadn’t quite known it yet.

“Selaer…” She turned toward him, scooting closer. “I want…” He moved much more quickly than she expected, sliding his arm beneath her head, pressed close against her side. Her pulse leapt, and she inhaled the clean, earthy scent of him.

“Hm?”

“I’m asking you.” She breathed.

“What are you asking?”

“For you to do all the things you said you’d do if I asked.” She grinned, lower lip between her teeth.

“You want me to bite you?” There was mirth in his tone, and Grenna laughed aloud, shaking her head.

“Maybe not _this_ time.” She smiled, and his crest stood all the way up. He liked that idea.

“Next time, then.” Selaer tilted her chin up then bent, pressing his mouth to hers. She’d wondered how this might go, their faces not being especially compatible for kisses in the traditional sense. But she was wrong, to a certain degree, in thinking that Argonians didn’t have lips at all. They _were_ able to speak the common tongue very well, after all.

Kissing was the only thing she _did_ have some experience with, though she was perhaps a little out of practice. He parted her lips with his own, then flicked his tongue against hers. She tasted him, as that practically vibrating anticipation coursed through her, pooling low.

He halted, watching her, stroking her hair. “I don’t know if we should.”

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“You were hurt in the storm.”

“And I healed myself. That’s what I _do_.” Hopefully, he could see, even in the dark, that this was what she wanted. It was a little bit sad that his consideration for her was so surprising. “You care that much?”

“I care.” He kissed her cheek and her temple. “Besides, you see through the things most refuse to look beyond.”

“You mean that I’m not afraid of you, and I like to talk to you and am interested in more than that intimidating cabinet of blades over there?” The smirk curled on her lips, and she leaned closer to him, lightly tracing the ridges of his brow with her fingers. Selaer nodded without saying anything, pulling her a little closer.

“You seem less…nervous than before.”

“I’m not gibbering like a fool for once. I don’t know…it’s easier, I suppose, when we’re already touching, and well, the dark helps.” She gave a shrug.

“Is it that terrible to look upon me?” He gave a snort as she made a mildly offended noise.

“I look at you every chance I get, and you know it.” Grenna scoffed. “I am plenty nervous, though, I guess it’s anticipation. I mean, the cat’s out of the bag, so to speak, regarding the nature of our interest in one another, I think, at least physically, I suppose.” The smile she wore was shy, as she fidgeted a little. “I imagine there must be a passing fondness beyond that for you to have tolerated my ridiculous…” The gibbering had returned but was interrupted by Selaer’s mouth on hers once more, and they held tightly to one another. She could not help but revel in the heady sensation of his firm form against her much softer one. His fingers tangled in her hair as he nuzzled her neck.

On impulse, Grenna reached down, catching the hem of her shirt and pulled it up, then, with some wriggling, took it off altogether.

“I’ve thought often of your hands on me…” She murmured. Selaer’s breath came a little faster, and the tips of his fingers trailed up her thigh, pausing above her hip, where he felt a deep scar. He’d seen it, obviously, but she hoped he wouldn’t want to talk about it, or the others. Not now, anyway. She was grateful as his touch continued across her belly before his hand came to rest on her breast. His thumb languidly moved back and forth over her nipple, and the sensation was delightfully maddening. She writhed a little, but he stopped and moved on. Selaer pressed a kiss to her neck, teeth very gently grazing her skin, and she breathed a small, unexpected noise.

“Mmm.” He gave a pleased sort of hum.

“What?”

“I like the sounds you make.” He took her earlobe between his teeth, and she made another one, chest heaving as a shiver slithered down her spine.

“Do you…have you…been with non-Saxhleel women before?” Apparently, the trend of stupid things falling from her mouth would be ongoing, and she cursed inwardly at herself.

He paused. “Yes.”

“Oh.” She swallowed, feeling stupider still for having asked something she didn’t necessarily want the answer to.

“You’re…disappointed?” He looked down at her, and she got the feeling he could see better in the dark than she could.

“N-no…I was just…wondering. It’s fine if it isn’t a new experience for you…I don’t mean that it’s…I’m just saying…you know what you’re doing, which is good, I would think…” Oh, gods, she was ruining everything, _shut up, shut up, shut up_.

“It’s new.”

“New, how? Were they men?” She blurted. _WHY?_ WHY WOULD SHE SAY THAT? “That’s alright if they were, of course, I’m certainly not one to give a second thought to the proclivities of others, I…I really ought to stop talking.” He chuckled, though.

“No, they weren’t men.” He pressed his mouth briefly to hers again, and she inhaled sharply, head swimming. “It’s new because…I’m not paying you.” Grenna’s eyes grew round as saucers.

“ _Oh_.” She understood now.

“It was just easier…with what I do.” Not a lot of women likely were lining up and beating down the bedroom door of an assassin.

“I understand.” She did, truthfully. A transaction for pleasure made sense; it took all the complications out. Complications he couldn’t afford. What, then, was she?

“Do you think less of me?” The question was quiet, and it surprised her.

“What?” She blinked, mystified. It seemed strange that a Shadowscale would be concerned about such a thing, stranger still that anyone would be thought less of for _that_. “Of course not.” Her hands slid up his chest. “I won’t ask any more ridiculous quest…” Selaer’s kiss silenced her, and she put her arms around his neck as he came down half over her, one thigh wedged tightly between hers. The weight of him pressed her down into the bedding, and she let her fingers move over him, exploring the contours of his arms and back.

Selaer rolled away suddenly, and Grenna’s brow furrowed, confused, but she watched him pull at the ties on his breeches. Frozen and propped on her elbow, her gaze was fixed on him.

“Fair is fair.” He shoved them down and off, tossing the garment to the floor as she drank in the sight of his entirely unclothed body, impressive even in low light. Her pulse had been racing since the moment he touched her, and it didn’t slow now. She’d expected to see him in a fully _unsheathed_ state, but he wasn’t at all. It was becoming quite disconcerting for her intellectual interest and sexual arousal to be battling for the most attention.

He was watching her closely, perhaps concerned she might somehow be put off by how different he was from humans.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to stare…I’m not _staring_ …well, I suppose I am…but it’s because I…like…you. Obviously.”

“You’re allowed to be curious.” He chuckled.

“I am…I mean, I know. But I don’t think you’re _a_ curiosity. You a _person_ …”

“Stop.” He put his fingers over her lips, leaning close. “Stop worrying, stop analyzing. And for the love of Sithis…stop apologizing.”

“Sor-” Grenna caught herself. “Yes, okay.” She nodded.

“Do what you want. Follow impulse or instinct, whatever moves you. What do you want to do?” He stroked her hair, and they lay close together on their sides, face to face, quiet for a while. She focused on the moment; all her attention was his. The never-ending barrage of curiosity and connections to her knowledge and interests were quiet.

“I don’t… _know_ what to do.” She whispered. “In practice, that is. Knowing and doing are very different. I don’t want to disappoint you, and I don’t want to be disappointed.”

“Are you disappointed so far?”

“N-no, not at all. I’m more excited than I’ve ever been…about anything.” Grenna told him quickly, not wanting to misconstrue anything.

“And have you ever done any of _this_ before?”

“No…”

“Not so worrisome then, is it?”

Selaer kissed her and gathered her in his arms. They lie that way for some time, as she grew comfortable with the feel of his skin against hers. She pressed her lips to his jaw, then his neck, experimentally mimicking what he’d done to her, even very gently biting, and he let out a shuddering exhale.

“That’s good?” She pulled back a little, looking him in the eye, and he nodded.

“Yes.”

“Noted.” A grin spread across her face, then. “What else feels good?”

“Everything you do feels good.” His arms tightened around her, solid as living stone. Grenna found she quite liked his strength.

“This is no time for generalizations! What specifically and _especially_ feels good?” She bit him a little harder on the jaw, and he laughed, rolling onto his back again.

“You mean like this?” Selaer took her hand and placed it low on his belly. Her pulse leapt, then slowly he slid both their hands downward. He inhaled audibly as he directed her touch, pressing his hips upward against her palm.

“I expected you to already be…” She searched for the right word. Up? _Out_? “…aroused.”

“I am…I just…didn’t want to frighten you…” He pushed her hand a little firmer with his own, demonstrating the pressure, which she then applied. “I was beginning to run out of control.” The tip of him pressed upward through the opening against her fingers.

“You must have been running short of it that first night, too.” She snickered. “I didn’t even think before leaning down and _blowing_ on your thigh.” Selaer groaned through clenched teeth, though, sliding out the rest of the way and into her hand. Well, he’d liked _that_.

Grenna wrapped her fingers carefully around the slick length, her eyes flicking to Selaer’s face and back again. His mouth was open as she adjusted her grip, but it was too dark to see much beyond his shape. He was the only person she’d touched this way, but from feel alone, it was obvious he was different. The tip was tapered, but blunt, and he was otherwise a bit thicker than she’d expected. Not that there had been much by way of expectation.

“Your hand is dry…” He told her gently, stopping her tentative movements. Grenna released him at once, resisting the urge to apologize.

“Oh, um…” Always the problem solver, her mind went at once to what sort of compound she could put together that might act as a lubricant, but, of course, she had no supplies. Would something from his jars work? Another idea popped up, though. “Should I use my mouth instead?” Selaer gaped at her, eyes wide as though she’d suggested something completely outlandish. “I’ve heard it’s something often desired…I won’t, of course, if you don’t want me to…”

“I, uh…no, that would be…I would…enjoy that…immensely…” It was strange, and a little amusing, for Selaer to be the one stammering and flabbergasted for a change.

“Oh, alright, then…” She wouldn’t have offered were she not ready to follow through, so Grenna shifted to get at a better angle, wetting her lips, and he sat up quickly, taking her by the shoulders to stop her.

“Not tonight, though.” His hands slid from her shoulders to her face, and he pressed a kiss to her lips, and she nodded.

“Well, I’ve heard it _does_ make things go much more quickly, so I understand. Though in this instance, that might not be a bad idea… Lots of ladies I’ve helped for one reason or another have complained about their men taking no time at all. It’s no wonder so many don’t seem to like it very much.” She was babbling… _again_.

“Ah, that’s not really an issue the Saxhleel have.” Selaer cleared his throat, and Grenna’s brows arched high.

“Really? I’m surprised then that Argonian lovers aren’t more popular. I imagine if that secret gets out, man and mer might start to die out.” She grinned, tickled by the idea.

“The rest of Tamriel hasn’t come to many of the realizations you have, Grenna.” He put her on her back again, mouth trailing against her neck and shoulder.

“Yes, well, I…”

“Shh. I want to touch you.”

“You _are_ touching—” She gasped as his fingers slipped between her thighs, one pressing a little too firmly the spot that shot sensation like electricity through her, and she jerked in surprise, her fingers and toes almost tingling with the shock.

“Apologies…I should have realized you’d need a lighter touch.” He whispered against her ear, adjusting accordingly. Grenna reached for some sort of reply, but no words came. Instead, she moaned softly. “Though I have declined your…offer for tonight, perhaps you’ll allow me to do you the favor instead if you wish it.” It was her turn to gape at him. “What? Did all the ladies full of information forget to tell you about that?”

“Well…it was…mentioned.” She breathed. “But typically discussed as though it was some mythical creature.” She grinned but let out a shuddering breath as he moved his fingers in precise, tiny circles. His eyes were fixed on her face, gauging her reactions to what he was doing.

Factually, she knew, of course, what he was working so diligently to achieve. Between her studies and the discussions with _patients_ that she’d had, there was little she hadn’t heard. She had been familiar with herself, once upon a time, though not since before the accident. Any and all desire had been summarily cut off at the knees that day, until the night Selaer came to the tavern, bleeding everywhere.

It was something new altogether to be touched that way by someone else and for the one doing the touching to be more than passingly competent. Grenna, with her head back and eyes closed, could feel the tension as it coiled deep below her belly, but he changed the pressure and rhythm ever so slightly, and the climb to release all but halted. Eyes popping open, her head snapped up, and she looked at him in question.

“Do you trust me?” He asked softly, kissing her lightly.

“Yes.” She breathed. It was the truth. Though, the reasons why seemed yet to be unknown. A great many things were happening since coming to Stormhold that she had yet to understand.

Selaer shifted, moving down, and she stared, her eyes huge, heart hammering away. Knowing about the act did nothing by way of preparing Grenna for the startling vision of him between her knees. He would stop if she told him to, but she didn’t want him to, she wanted to know how everything felt. His hands slid down the insides of her thighs, pressing them wide apart as she stared, mouth agape.

Certainly, this was the most erotic thing she’d ever seen in the whole of her life, and it was all she could do to keep still when she felt his breath, hot against her flesh. When he gently nuzzled her hair there, her hips lifted of their own accord as she inhaled sharply.

“Is this okay?” He pressed his cheek against one of her thighs.

Grenna nodded quickly. “Mmhm.” Then she felt his long tongue tracing upward and down again before going back up to focus where his fingers had. The coverlet was bunched in her fists already, body almost bowing upward, but Selaer held her in place. The pressure was building again, tiny ripples of sensation emanating from that focal point. When his tongue suddenly thrust inside her, she gasped aloud. It was so strange and unexpected, but she wanted more. Then, with her brain sufficiently addled by sensation, she wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing, his tongue working in tandem with pressure from his upper lip, and the tension snapped at last.

Every muscle contracted simultaneously; the spasm gripped her as though in a fist, radiating from where he touched her. She’d never made a sound before like the one that tore from her throat. Selaer’s hands were at her waist, his elbows keeping her thighs from clamping shut on his head, and he relented only when she relaxed as it ebbed away.

“Well…” Grenna panted, amazed she had any capacity for speech.

“Well what?” Selaer pulled himself upward, his face even with hers again.

“That was…quite nice.” She put her arms around his neck.

“Quite nice…” He laughed softly. “I’m glad to hear it.” He settled over her.

“I want to feel you.” Her lips trailed light kisses along his mouth, her body moving experimentally beneath his.

“You’re sure?” Such concern and consideration made it much easier for her.

“Yes.” She lifted her hips a little, accomplishing exactly nothing against his immovable weight, but he pressed his hips against her, the hard ridge of his arousal pressing directly on her. Seeming to enjoy her reaction, he did it again and kept going in a rhythm that started coiling that intoxicating tension all over again.

“Not until you’re fully ready.” He breathed.

“I…I thought…I was…” Grenna arms were clasped around his middle as he moved, braced on his hands.

“You will know when.” He kissed her before she could reply again, his own breath coming faster. She moved with him, practically panting, eyes squeezed shut. Finally, he made a sound, a low, quiet moan, deep in his throat. That, and the sound of his breath, tipped her over the edge, and she writhed beneath him, wanting more.

“I…I see what you mean.” Her muscles seemed to tremble and twitch a little as the feeling trickled away once more. “Now, I am.”

Though it was dim, she could still see his face and watch his eyes as he reached down to guide himself. Grenna, still breathing hard, inhaled sharply when she felt the tip against her, more out of surprise than anything else. Not that she should have been surprised, what _else_ would he be doing down there?

Selaer had taken his time to arouse and please her, but still, he moved with caution as he slipped inside, just a bit. Her breath was shallow and fast, but he was holding still until she nodded again. She winced a little, the sensation strange and initially uncomfortable. It wasn’t anything like the horror stories mothers of High Rock told their adolescent daughters, though.

“Alright?”

“Strange.” She murmured but wiggled her hips a little to see how it felt. It was nice but overshadowed by the amusement that bubbled up when his breath hissed out through his teeth. Apparently, it felt nice for him too.

“Strange?” He blinked.

“Were you expecting squeals of ecstasy?” She gave a snort, head still swimming.

“Not exactly…but not as much discussion, maybe.”

“I like to think of myself as a realist, so…” Grenna’s breath caught as he moved his hips forward, sliding the rest of the way in. Until that point, she’d wondered why she wanted something she’d never experienced before. It was strange, but it was good…very good, actually, which she suspected had something to do with what she’d felt a moment earlier. But Selaer was strange, too. Not because he was Argonian, but because he’d been kind and understanding to her, gentle and considerate, witty, alluring…all whilst his life’s work was sticking sharp things into people and enforcing order in the most inhospitable place in Tamriel.

He moved, drawing back and pressing into her again, and she sucked in her breath. The discomfort had waned, and Grenna found she quite liked it, even if it was still very foreign. She stared up at him, everything shifting from the thing they were doing to the fact it was him. She realized she was clutching the blanket again and let go, sliding her hands to Selaer’s waist, feeling his muscles flexing as he slowly moved.

“Keep going.” She whispered, arching up a little, and he kissed her before sliding one arm beneath her head so that the full length of her body was in contact with his. Naturally, she had been initially distracted by what she was feeling, but as his breath came faster, she focused on him. The way he moved, the steady rhythm, and the small sounds he tried to stifle. Why was he trying to be quiet? She wanted to know if what they were doing pleased him, too. His forehead pressed to hers, and Grenna dug her heels in, moving with him, actively participating now that she had a bit more of a feel for things. Selaer inhaled sharply, lifting a little to look down at her, and she smiled.

The pace changed, and thinking stopped as they moved together. Grenna held on, groaning softly as the more accustomed to him she became, the better it felt. This was the closest she’d ever been to another person, not just physical proximity, of course, but she’d allowed him to know her. He didn’t need or want her to be anything else except for who she was.

A tremor ran through Selaer as he strained to hold back, but Grenna felt sated, satisfied by what she’d experienced so far, and she was wildly curious about his pleasure. About what he felt and what he liked.

“It’s good…” She put her hands on his cheeks, stroking his neck. “I’m fairly resilient, you know, and a healer to boot, you don’t have to resist so much.”

“You…you _tell_ me if…” Selaer panted.

“I will, I promise. Go ahead.” Grenna pressed a kiss to his mouth, and he shifted to his knees, one arm wrapped around beneath her waist as he braced himself on the other by her shoulder. Her gaze was hungrily fixed on him as he moved faster. She’d prepared herself for discomfort but was surprised to find the opposite, even when he drove harder. Suddenly, his breath came sharp and rapid, his movements more frantic as he made a ragged sound pushing hard and deep, and Grenna yelped in very brief pain, but he held still there, hips twitching.

He lowered himself onto her, both breathing hard, her heartbeat whooshed in her ears as she stared upward over his shoulder. Selaer’s face was buried against her neck. So, that was it. Her tentative expectations were well beyond exceeded. Physically, she was no worse for wear, though she knew with complete certainty come the morning, every muscle in her body would ache. He hadn’t hurt her, of course, she knew he wouldn’t. He’d done things she liked very much and distantly hoped he wasn’t disappointed in her lack of skill.

With stock taken of her physical state, Grenna found she was otherwise overwhelmed. She swallowed, biting down the insides of her cheeks to keep herself focused on something tangible. There wasn’t even anything she could put into linear thought or words to explain the very unexpected welling up of strange feelings. She felt…upset, but not in a bad way. Which made absolutely no sense to her. After the unadulterated delight she’d just experienced, she ought to have been grinning from ear to ear.

Instead, things she couldn’t articulate were sweeping her away like the overflow of the creek had. Selaer would notice, soon, and he did, pushing himself up a little.

“I didn’t expect silence.” He said softly.

“Ah, well…” Even those two words were shaky. Of course, he knew at once, shifting to move off of her, but Grenna held on, keeping him from moving away yet. She didn’t want to look at his face yet; she wasn’t sure what this churning sea of feelings would do.

“What’s wrong? Are you hurt…?” The barrage of questions wouldn’t cease, she feared unless she found a way to put them off for a while.

“No, I just…” She took a couple deep breaths, face pressed against his shoulder. “I’m not hurt or…angry or any of that. You were w-…” Her teeth clenched and unclenched as she got a grip. “…wonderful. I just…want to be quiet for a while.” The tension of his concern didn’t leave him, but she felt him nod.

Gently, Selaer disengaged, and Grenna kissed him, hoping it was reassurance enough that she in no way felt any regret. She didn’t, she was glad and satisfied, and though tired, somewhere far away, she wanted more. But at the forefront of her mind was a bunch of nonsense she’d yet to sort into coherence. They lay face to face on their sides, his arm beneath her head as she stayed pressed against him. With his free hand, he aimlessly combed his fingers through her hair, and it soothed her to sleep.


	6. Heals-With-Light

Oh, gods…consciousness wasn’t even firmly grasped yet, and Grenna could feel the ache that bloomed in her muscles from even the tiniest movement. All this time, she’d fancied herself a reasonably active and able-bodied person, yet one night had left her feeling as though a herd of something huge and hooved had been doing Nord sword dances all over her body. But it had been only one thing, sans hooves, doing things all over her body. Mm, Selaer…

Grenna’s eyes slowly opened. She was hugging a pillow, lying on her stomach, in an empty bed. Were it not for the complaints of her limbs and everything that held them together, she might have thought it hadn’t happened at all. No noises or rustling were coming from inside the house. Selaer was gone somewhere, then. Giving her surroundings a cursory glance, she saw nothing indicating where he was.

His absence was mildly disconcerting, though it also allowed her a little time to herself. The sensation of being overwhelmed had at least faded. Mostly what she was feeling was clear as mud, but at the risk of seeming naive, everything that had gone on from the moment she’d met Selaer had felt…substantial. It mattered. It was no small thing for her to freely be herself and for anyone to accept her that way. Perhaps it was a longing she’d had all her life without knowing it, the desire to be wanted for herself in whatever form. As a friend, as a lover…as a daughter.

She couldn’t possibly have reached adulthood unscathed, having been utterly rejected by even her own mother. Surely there was some resulting maladjustment. Obviously, there was, since she, though a fully grown adult woman, had run away from home. And now she was making love to an Argonian. Well, she had once. The mere thought of it heated her from head to toe. She didn’t know how Selaer felt about all this, however. He’d enjoyed himself; that much was clear, if the linens were any indication. Well, they both had.

Grenna forced herself to slip out of bed, then stretched and winced. Deciding that she was far too weak-willed to endure the aches, she closed her eyes and let the golden glow of healing renewal seep through her, easing the pain until it was all but gone.

Selaer’s discarded shirt from the night before still lay on the chest at the foot of the bed, and his breeches remained on the floor. She felt an involuntary clench that made her shiver. The washtub had water in it, she noticed, and there was a clean cloth as well as soap. So, he _had_ thought of her. A small smile crossed her lips when she wet the cloth and found that the water was quite warm, then began washing up.

It was unclear where things stood between them, to her at least, and her fear of making incorrect assumptions. Grenna felt that there was more than simple physical attraction, but she was afraid to embrace the idea and risk looking quite foolish if it wasn’t the case. She wanted to believe, based on what he said, that this meant something to him, too. They were still strangers in many ways, though, weren’t they?

Whilst dressing, she was careful to choose a shirt that was definitely _not_ see-through, this time. Wandering toward the table, she found a bowl of berries and took a small handful, munching as she got herself some water. Selaer needed a bloody clock, or an open window, _something_ she could gauge time by.

A sharp rap on the door startled Grenna, and she both dropped her cup and overturned the bowl, the contents of which went rolling in every direction. She cursed under her breath, starting toward the door, but halted mid-stride. Who would be knocking on _his_ door? Someone looking for her? Or worse, someone looking for him? She fidgeted, trying to decide what to do. There was no bolt on the door that she could see, and options for hiding places were limited.

“Grenna, it is Ahdra!” Came a voice from the outside. Relief swept through Grenna, and she opened the door. The slim Argonian woman swished into the house. “I brought some clothes for you, since everything of yours is now in the bowels of the fen.” She promptly deposited an armload of clothing onto the table and unshouldered a bag, letting it rest on the floor. “Selaer asked me yesterday if I could get you some things.”

“Oh…” Grenna didn’t know what to say. “I’ll pay for them, of course…”

“My brother already did.” Ahdra folded her arms, looking at Grenna’s disheveled hair and generally bewildered countenance. “I didn’t hear anything going on when I walked up, so I knew it was safe to knock.” Grenna’s mouth dropped open, and the blush encompassed her entire self.

“I…well, that’s…I don’t know where Selaer is.” She squirmed internally. “He was already gone when I woke.” Ahdra leaned forward, narrowing her eyes.

“You look shaken…or distraught. I’m not very good with the specifics of human faces, but you don’t look ecstatic. Was my brother rough with you?” Was it that obvious what had happened? Or was the assumption being made solely on the fact Grenna wore nothing but _his_ shirt and that her hair was an unholy mess?

“What? No, not at…that…that’s a very _personal_ inquiry, don’t you think?” Grenna crossed her arms, aiming for mildly affronted, rather than the more likely twitchy, shy, and recently deflowered appearance.

“Do you love him?” The question was abrupt and shocking. More shocking somehow than if Ahdra had asked her exactly how many times and in what ways she had enjoyed Selaer.

“I…we don’t know one another very well; it would be premature to make such a determination.” Grenna _was_ a bit surprised with herself that things had progressed so quickly. She and Selaer had known each other for little more than two weeks. “And…I’m not sure I’d even know _love_ if it leapt up and bit my backside.” The unwelcome but not unpleasant image of Selaer doing precisely that came to mind, and she tried forcing it out, clearing her throat. “Selaer’s pointed out on more than one occasion my inability to see the dangerous things in front of my very eyes, so…” Ahdra stepped forward, looking a bit more serious even than she usually did, quite the accomplishment for the already stony-faced Argonian.

“You’re a very nice girl who I believe means no harm in coming here.” She started. _Uh oh._ “Selaer has never done anything lightly from the minute he stepped out of the shell, and the Brotherhood took him. If you’re not sure _this_ is what you want, then you need to leave.” Ahdra did not mince words, Grenna knew that and wasn’t very surprised by her menacing tone.

“This is what I want.” She whispered. “I didn’t know that’s what I wanted…until he…came along. What I don’t know is what _he_ wants; he is the one who has said very little…”

“He has said more in two weeks than he’s said in two years. I’m sure that with enough time spent amongst the Saxhleel, you’ll understand the magnitude of that.” Ahdra stepped back.

The door opened, and Grenna jumped again. _Why_ was she so on edge? Selaer entered, and he looked from her to Ahdra, face unreadable, though his tail gave a small twitch, and then closed the door behind him. _Mm, yes. More, please._ That debauched little part of Grenna hummed and danced, and she tried to quell it but couldn’t take her eyes from him. He met her gaze, saying nothing, and Ahdra made a quiet, amused sound. He must have indicated something in some subtle Argonian way that Grenna didn’t understand yet because his sister cleared her throat a little.

“Well. I will see myself out. When you’re ready, Grenna, you still have a job at the tavern.” Chuckling, Ahdra left, the door latch clicking quietly behind her.

“I’d hoped to return before you got up. Did she wake you?” Selaer took a step toward Grenna.

“No, no. I was up already.” She felt shy, refraining from saying any of the hundreds of things racing through her mind.

“How are you?” _Why_ was he perpetuating the awkward small talk? What was next? Weather?

“I was quite sore when I woke, but took care of it, of course.” Feeling the need to fidget, she righted the upended cup and grabbed the bowl, trying to scoop berries back into it. “Ahdra startled me when she knocked and I…sorry for the mess.” She glanced at him briefly, but he was simply watching her. “I…I fear I may have put you off last night after…after we…” Gods, why was it so difficult to have a serious conversation? “Afterward.”

“Put me off?” Selaer’s head tilted to one side as though she’d said something ludicrous. He let out a small sigh, then picked her up by the waist and Grenna gave a surprised squeak as he sat her on the edge of the table. Being a good deal bigger than she was, he had no issue doing so, despite her being less than _dainty_. The top of her head only came to his shoulders, and she wasn’t especially short. What he’d told her the day before about what he’d like to do on that table came to mind, though, and her stomach did a small, excited flip, more than happy to comply. He put both hands on the surface on either side of her, leaning close. “You don’t know me yet, I know…”

“Yet?” She perked up a little more. _Yet_ was good, and she whispered very quietly. “I like yet.”

“You’re worried that I…?” Selaer’s breath hissed out through his teeth as he exhaled and stood up straight. _No, come back!_ She groaned inwardly. Indeed, there must be some kind of little need-demon inside her, she thought, and it lived between her legs, newly awakened and ready to distract her at every turn. “I sometimes forget that you don’t understand all the ways we communicate.”

“I haven’t been here very long, though, at the tavern, I do try to pay close attention…” Her fingers itched to touch him. What _was_ this drive she felt to always put her hands on him?

“Tell me about last night.” He leaned close again, stepping between her knees, and she stared up into his yellow eyes, slack-jawed and grasping for something to say.

“Uh…well, um…I thought it went fairly well. It appeared, from what I observed at least, that we both rather enjoyed things. I mean, you were _there_. I hadn’t thought to be quizzed about it come morning, but if you want specifics about what I liked the most, then…”

“Well, yes, I admit my curiosity in that regard…but that’s not what I meant. I meant after. You were upset.” It was incredibly distracting as he bent, mouth pressed close to her ear.

“Um…” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, wrangling every ounce of her self-control not to reach for the ties of his trousers. “I was…it was…rather moving. I hadn’t expected that, and it…caught me off guard.” She swallowed audibly, taking a deep breath to try and keep her focus. “I know this will come as _quite_ a shock to you, but I’m not always very good at articulating what I’m thinking.” Grenna bit her lower lip, smirking a little.

“What? _No,_ surely that can’t be.” He laughed softly. “With how linear and coherent your words usually are, I cannot believe it at _all_.”

“Yes, yes, poke your fun, if you must.” She rolled her eyes, and he pressed his mouth to hers. Wrapping her arms around his neck, Grenna kissed him, hoping that if maybe her words weren’t always clear, perhaps her actions were. Grasping her hips, Selaer pulled her closer to the edge of the table, leaning down, pressing against her.

“I won’t poke fun.” His teeth grazed her neck.

“What about a fun poke?” Grenna grinned at his surprise, and a laugh bubbled up. A soft groan came from him, though, as he pressed more tightly against her. Her legs wrapped around his waist.

A sudden knock, though, interrupted. Grenna found herself back on her feet again, thrust behind Selaer as he stood, watching the door, a long and very sharp knife in one hand. Where did he get it from? It hadn’t looked like he was wearing any weapons. If it was an enemy of some sort at the door, at least she could count on them being swiftly dispatched so that they might, to the delight and longing of her need-demon, return to what they’d started.

He said nothing, though, and the knock sounded again, more urgent, and somewhat lower down on the door than a knock might ordinarily be.

“Is…is the healer in there?” A small voice shakily called. Selaer hid the knife behind his back, and cautiously approached the door before opening it just enough that whoever was outside could see him. “P-please…Xakre broke his leg.” Grenna saw the tension visibly leave Selaer, who opened the door wider. There stood a terrified Argonian child in front of the door, two more supporting another in the yard, and a handful more faces peering wide-eyed around the gate. She recognized the injured child as the one whose scrape she’d healed a few days earlier.

“Climbing trees again?” She called, stepped up to the doorway. The child nodded. “Well, what are you waiting for? Bring him in.” She sighed, regretting her lack of supplies for what would no doubt not be the last time.

Selaer took the clothes from the table that Ahdra had left and disappeared into the bedchamber. Grenna, impatient, and not wanting the child to suffer more, stepped out of the house and picked him up, careful of the leg that was obviously broken. She brought him in and set him on the table, gently laying him back and examining the break. It was a bad one, one that without her help would have undoubtedly left him crippled.

“It’s going to hurt when I set it, Xakre. Do you understand? I must put the bones back where they go before I heal them.” She explained. He nodded, breathing fast. Under ordinary circumstances, she would have given him something to calm him first that might have numbed him a little to the pain. Selaer appeared, a bottle of some sort in hand. As he stepped up to her patient, the other children gathered at the door, looked as though ready to run. He propped the child up and put the bottle to his mouth, instructing him to drink. After several healthy swallows, and with a cough, Xakre nodded and laid back again, blinking slowly. Grenna caught a whiff of strong alcohol.

“Is that _whiskey?_ Did you just give a child alcohol that smells strong enough to knock a horse over?” She stared up at him, and Selaer shrugged one shoulder.

“Options are limited, presently.” He took a step away as she sighed, and the child hiccupped, his eyes blinking slowly out of synch.

Grenna shook her head but took hold of Xakre’s knee and ankle. “On three.” She said softly. He nodded in understanding. “One, two…” There was a sickening crunch as she pulled and a wailing screech that tore from her patient. Bones in place, though, she put her hands close to the break. There was a bright flash and then the golden glow as she concentrated. Bones were tougher than scrapes and bruises. The agonized cry ceased as the pain ebbed, and his breathing began to slow back to normal.

“You did very well,” Selaer assured him.

“I bet you wouldn’t scream,” Xakre muttered, seeming a little ashamed.

“A break like that? I have and would again.” Selaer gave the child’s shoulder a jovial shake and then handed him some water.

“Really?” His eyes were wide, a little drunk having imbibed so much alcohol, staring up at the towering, once-terrifying assassin.

“Yes.”

“You really must be a bit more careful. I can heal these breaks, and you’ll be fine, but there _is_ scarring on the bone. For the next couple of weeks, you’d better take it easy.” Grenna huffed. Xakre was still beaming at Selaer, and she grabbed him by the snout to get his attention. “Do you hear me?”

“Yes…I will be more careful, miss…uh…?”

“My name is Grenna.” If she was going to live there, they would need to know her real name. She would simply have to hope that no one would come for her.

“Grenna,” Xakre repeated and nodded. “Should I t-tell my…” He hiccupped. “…parents about this?”

“Yes, of course.” She scoffed, shaking her head. “I’m very glad you came to me, but they have a right to know that you were injured and who cared for you. If any of your parents wish to speak with me, I will gladly talk to them. Now, you should be good to go.”

Selaer picked the child up and set him on his feet, where he stood on the floor, bending his knees, switching from foot to foot, looking amazed that he was perfectly fine.

“Thank you, Grenna!” He beamed. “They should call you Heals-With-Light.” The sentiment was unexpectedly touching.

“I’m happy to have helped. Best you get going now.” Grenna shooed Xakre and the others, and they quickly fled, laughing and chattering amongst themselves. She smiled to herself, though, then closed the door once more. When she turned and found Selaer watching her, her pulse leapt once more.

“You’re still not at ease with me.” He took a step toward her, proving his point as her eyes widened, not sure what to expect. It was a strange mixture of excitement and anticipation. “You were more comfortable handling a child’s broken limb than you are alone with me.” He didn’t seem bothered, but spoke matter-of-factly.

“I’m not _un_ comfortable…I’m just…you…I don’t know.” She gave a nervous laugh, feeling a bit silly. Selaer took her hand, though.

“Come here. Lie down with me.” He led her to the bed, and the fluttering pulse thumped harder. She’d had him and wanted him some more, why was she nervous? He wiped his feet off, tugged his shirt over his head, and after hanging it on the bedpost, got into bed, motioning for her to follow.

Grenna, eyes fixed on Selaer, slid in beside him, and swallowed audibly. It was daylight, things were much brighter than they had been the night before.

“Alright.” She murmured. “Now what?”

“You tell me.” He smirked.

“What?”

“I think we should get used to each other for a while.” He shifted to his side, propping his head upon his hand.

“You seem plenty used to me already…” She wanted to feel calmer and less like she was about to jump out of her skin if he moved too quickly.

“I’m not.” Gently, he took her hand and placed it flat against his chest. Beneath her palm, she could feel how rapid his heart rate was, despite his calm exterior.

“Oh.”

“So, we can lie around and…stare blankly at one another, or talk, which was what I had hoped to do this morning before I was called away.” Under there somewhere, beneath the assassin was a sense of humor, she suspected. She must have looked anything but relaxed, though, as he went on to reassure her. “I won’t do anything until you tell me…explicitly what to do.” Amusement danced in his eyes as she gaped at him. Well, he’d definitely guaranteed them ample time to get comfortable, because she certainly wasn’t about to describe in detail what she wanted him to do. Not yet, anyway.

“Alright.” She agreed. A long moment passed as silence hung heavily between them. It had seemed more natural, somehow, when they touched, and she reached out, but paused. “Can I…?”

“Of course.” Selaer took her hand again and placed it near his heart. Grenna wriggled a little closer, watching him. It was somewhat calming knowing that he wasn’t going to initiate anything until she said so, even though she did want to do those things.

“I suppose it isn’t like this with…paid…individuals.” She hoped not, anyway.

“Heh. No, it isn’t.”

“I should probably not bring that up, but at this point, you’re well aware of the stupid that so readily falls from my mouth.”

“It isn’t stupid.”

“Well, I _feel_ stupid.”

“I make you feel that way?” He frowned a little.

“No, no. I assure you, I do that all by myself.” Her fingers idly traced little circles on his chest, content to be touching him, growing accustomed to the nearness.

“Probably should have started with this, rather than…last night…”

“I wouldn’t change anything about it.” Grenna chewed her lower lip lightly.

“Can I ask about these?” Selaer lightly touched the long scar on her face and taking a deep breath, letting it out slowly, she nodded. “Who hurt you?”

“I don’t know who they were. They sought to take advantage of an already terrible situation. I fought back as best I could, the threat of the blade not deterring me, so he followed through, to no avail. But I will never forget the feel of cold steel parting my flesh.” An involuntary shudder went through her. “I caught him between the legs when I managed to free one knee, apparently quite painful for a man who is fully aroused. So he said he’d fuck me living or as a corpse, it didn’t matter to him, and drove his knife into me twice, miraculously missing his mark both times.”

The look on Selaer’s face was one that Grenna imagined a great many people had seen shortly before their deaths. He was quiet for a long time, looking at her, though not with pity as she might have feared. It didn’t seem like him, from what she knew, to feel sorry for anyone. Such a feeling likely wasn’t beneficial to an assassin.

“I will gladly give him over to Sithis if you asked it of me.”

“I’m afraid you can’t.” An almost sad smile crossed her face.

“No? Why is that?”

She spoke in barely a whisper. “Because I already did.”


	7. Afternoon Delight

As it turned out, discussing a traumatic, violent event and the murder committed shortly thereafter was, apparently, a very effective method for quelling the impish demands of Grenna’s newborn need-demon. Useful, unpleasant though it was. It wasn’t really murder considering that he’d tried to kill her first, but it still felt that way.

Selaer didn’t ask her to elaborate, which she was grateful for. She’d never really discussed it before, but if anyone was going to be understanding, it would be someone whose livelihood it was to snuff out the flickering flame of life.

“If Shadowscales are taken by the Brotherhood as soon as they hatch, how did you and Ahdra find one another?” Grenna, the serious nature of their discussion notwithstanding, had shimmied closer still, lying pressed against Selaer.

“She was hatched from a clutch some years before I was, she knew my name, so when I began to serve the Black Marsh in addition to my duties to my sanctuary, we crossed paths. I knew nothing about the family I came from except my name. The Brotherhood prefers it that way.”

“I cannot suppose they would be too terribly pleased, then, if they knew what you’ve been up to recently.” Her grin held a little mischief.

“Probably not.” He agreed. “Though largely they refrain from meddling in our private lives.”

“That’s good, at least I can assume no one but your sister will be threatening me, then.” She gave a chuckle but stopped, seeing the look on his face.

“Did Ahdra threaten you?”

“What? No! That’s not what I meant! She didn’t…she just…it was only that I…” _Damn it all to oblivion!_

“What did she say to you?”

“It was nothing, I was joking…” It was all well and good to reveal the deep dark secrets that lie inside her, but Grenna wasn’t quite sure if she was up for discussing the serious matter of what was _actually_ going on with them.

“Tell me.”

“I…” She let out a long, resigned breath. “She asked me a question—no, _don’t_ look at me like that, it’s not relevant.” It absolutely was, but there was no amount of stern glaring he could do that would pry it from her. “She said that you’ve never done anything lightly, and that if I wasn’t sure that this was what I wanted, then I ought to leave.”

“And?” He wasn’t even blinking.

“And _what_?” _Uh oh…_

“What did you say?” His voice softened a little. _Oh no_. Heat crept up her neck and onto her face.

“That it is…what I want.” Perfect. Just when she’d been feeling comfortable enough to let her hands wander again. The need-demon gave a frustrated shriek. “But also that your thoughts…on the matter, um…are yet unknown to me…which is fine…I’m, of course, _not_ going to ask, or demand to know…that’s your…your business. And your thoughts. I don’t need to…it’s…I don’t know what I’m doing. At all. Even a little bit.” She gasped when Selaer pulled her toward him, half rolling onto her as he pressed his mouth to hers. But he jerked back.

“Apologies, you didn’t say…”

“No, no…do that. You can do that.” She blurted. “I, Grenna Sidoric, do formally request that you, Selaer Xerne…do that.” A small nervous laugh bubbled up.

“Formally request…” He laughed aloud. “You request that I do…what?” He grinned. She hadn’t seen him grin yet, it looked almost diabolical somehow. Big Argonian smiles tended to look disconcertingly aggressive in the eyes of men and mer. Luckily, she was already aware of that.

“What you were just doing.” Damn it! He was going to make her say it. And why couldn’t she just say it? She’d discussed far more embarrassing things with patients in the past. Though, that had never involved anyone doing anything to her. Selaer was waiting expectantly. “Hold onto me, close…while you kiss me, and…”

“And?” He urged, leaning a little closer.

“And for you to…sort of lie on me, like you just were. Your leg…” Her cheeks were positively burning. “With your leg between mine.”

He complied, and she inhaled sharply, wrapping her arms around him as he did indeed kiss her. The desire that had temporarily cooled flared back up, her hips lifting against him a little.

Grenna’s breath came faster as the rough fabric of his breeches rubbed against her. With the timeliness of things out of her control being as on point as ever, her stomach complained loudly about its empty state. Selaer stilled at once, and the present emptiness of something else seemed destined to remain that way. Much to her dismay.

“You’re hungry.” He moved off of her before she could even string together the reassuring words that would have kept him firmly lodged precisely where she wanted him. All she managed was a few unintelligible, indignant sounds of protest as he rose to his feet to fetch sustenance. “I apologize for my thoughtlessness. I was thinking of myself rather than the fact you need to be fed more than bedded.” He seemed somehow amused at himself.

“I think _that_ determination ought to be left up to _me_.” She grumbled quietly, sitting up, arms crossed, and a sour expression on her face. “Fed.” She scoffed. “Like I’m some animal to be _fed_.” Her gut made another audible objection as though to reiterate its point.

“I can find a trough if that’s your preference.” He called from out of sight. The undignified and scandalized noise she made in response no doubt entertained him greatly.

“Might as well; my sisters did like telling me how porky I am.” Grenna sighed.

“Porky?” He reappeared, a plate in hand. There was an assortment of fruit, bread, cheese, and smoked meat laid out upon it.

“Yes, as in bearing a resemblance to swine.” She took the plate as he offered it, setting a cup of water on the bedside table.

“Strange comparison, I’ve noted nothing piggish about you.” Perhaps rudely attributing negative perceptions of animals to people would have never occurred to an Argonian. But it was interesting, and something she’d never thought about, the things Argonians viewed as attractive versus the standards humans upheld as beautiful.

“Apparently, it was my propensity to gobble sweets as a girl.” She popped a piece of cheese into her mouth. “They’d tell me how such a habit would keep me from ever finding a husband.”

“How did you respond?”

“I ate more sweets.” With a small shrug, she grinned.

“Well,” He chuckled, sitting on the edge of the bed. “I suppose they were wrong.”

“Not entirely, considering I’ve never married.” Grenna’s tone was flippant, and she smirked, but when Selaer made no reply, she glanced up to find him curiously regarding her. It was suddenly difficult to swallow as she silently pleaded for the conversation to move on.

“I presume you don’t intend to work for Ahdra indefinitely.” How was he so calm _all_ the time?

“No,” She cleared her throat. “I’m not a very good barmaid anyway. Before the flood, I had thought to work as a healer on the side as I saved up earnings from the tavern.” Grenna kept eating. “I…I do have _some_ gold that I brought with me, and some more stowed away someplace safe. I imagine what I’ve got will go toward replenishing everything that I lost.”

“You can stay here, of course, unless you’re looking forward to living in the tavern pantry again.” Selaer’s head tilted a little to one side, looking amused.

“I really appreciate that as I’ve had just about as much pantry-living as I can handle for a lifetime, I think.” She took a drink and felt her hunger was sated, having eaten most of what he’d brought her. “Oh…I should have offered you some…”

“I ate this morning, not to worry.”

Grenna set the plate aside and shimmied off the side of the bed to begin looking through the clothes Ahdra had brought her.

“I suppose that if I’m ever going to stock up on supplies again, I’d better start sooner rather than later.” Though the possibility of whiling away the whole day entwined with a tall, muscular Argonian was _very_ appealing, not to mention tempting, she thought the more responsible thing to do was to replenish what had been swept away by the flood. Part of her also thought it was deeply unfortunate that she possessed the maturity to make such a choice.

The clothing items were fairly nondescript. Breeches and simple shirts, cloak, stockings, sandals, one pair of shoes. Without thinking, she pulled off the shirt she was wearing and tossed it onto the bed, reaching for a pair of brown breeches. Finally, it occurred to her that Selaer was watching and glanced in his direction where he indeed was. Well, the thought of being responsible counted, right? Who could be expected to follow through whilst being looked at that way?

Grenna stepped around to where he sat, eyes fixed on his as she cautiously reached out, setting her hands on his knees.

“What about your errand?” His voice was quiet, and she knew that this meager protestation was token at best. When she glanced at his lap, she saw he was already aroused, straining against the fabric of his trousers.

“Well…it’s still early…” She bit her bottom lip. “Isn’t it?”

“Does it matter?” Selaer made an amused sound, and she shook her head. “I didn’t think so.” Feeling unexpectedly brave, she let her hands slide up his thighs, then with a small tug, unknotted the laces of his fly. He shifted, freeing the tie at his tail, then shoved the trousers down his legs where they bunched at the knees. Without hesitation, Grenna tugged them off the rest of the way. He took her by the waist, pulling her toward him so that she straddled his lap, knees on the bed at either side of him. It felt a little bit like she’d slide off backward, and she gripped his shoulders, but he had her by the waist.

“It can be done…this way?” Ordinarily, she didn’t lack in knowledge of anything, but when it came to the intricacies and variations of physical intimacy beyond what they’d done the night before, she had no idea what was typical or enjoyable. It was uncharted territory, to put it mildly, though she very much wanted to explore.

“There are…many ways. I am not opposed to this if you’d like.” Selaer kissed her lightly, but her skin was on fire, the ache of desire firmly rooted where she wanted him, and she deepened the embrace.

“I will try it…since I don’t know all the things I like yet.” She grinned.

“Whenever you’re ready, I am.”

“When you say ready, do you mean…?”

“Aroused, willing.” He kissed her neck. “Wet.”

“Oh.” She breathed. “I think yes on all accounts.” Daring to lean back a little, and trusting him to keep hold of her, Grenna looked down between them. He was certainly ready, and with her lower lip between her teeth, as though it was a great matter of concentration, she reached down, rising up a little on her knees.

Her eyes were on his again, a small tremble going through her as she guided him. Selaer seemed to be holding his breath but went a bit slack-jawed as she lowered onto him. Grenna was still for a moment after taking him in entirely.

“Well…it’s quite different in broad daylight, isn’t it?” She moved her hips just a little.

“I prefer to see your face if given the choice.” He kissed her, one hand sliding up between her breasts before cupping one. She rose and then lowered, getting a feel for how it felt, and she wasn’t sure. It seemed a little odd to just bob up and down on him. It felt nice enough, but things the night before had felt much better. “Here, try this way.” Selaer hooked one arm around her waist to keep her in place, then turned and got farther onto the bed, lying flat.

“How is this different? Am I to _bounce_?” A small frown knit her brow, and Selaer gave a snort. “Or is this one of those things that feels better for you than for me?”

“I wouldn’t do that to you.” He chuckled. “Put your hands on my chest, lean forward to tilt your hips.” She did as instructed.

“I suppose I ought to be glad you’re as educated in the matter as you are, otherwise I…hnngg…” The quip was interrupted as he took hold of her, pushed, and then pulled her back against him. “Oh.” She let out a long breath. “It-it feels nice for you, as well, I presume?”

“Yes.” He squeezed her hips a little, and finally, Grenna moved, pressing against him just right. It took a moment, but she found the pace and angle that felt the best, her breath coming faster. She watched Selaer’s chest rising and falling more rapidly, and his hands moved along her skin. Over her thighs, hips, backside, breasts, and back again.

Small sounds escaped her as she moved, the coil tightening in her belly. His whole body was hard beneath her, his muscles taut beneath her palms. So close…she was very close. He put his head back, groaning softly.

“You should do that more…” She panted.

“Hm?”

“That sound…a-any sound, really…”

“Ahh…” He moved, undulating beneath her, and her breath caught. She was right on the edge, she squeezed her eyes shut, breathing in shallow gasps, when he grabbed her by the hips, claws digging in just a little as he moaned aloud, thrusting up into her. She gave a sharp cry, falling headlong at last off that precipice, every muscle in her body contracting. She needed more, she wanted it to go on, and she didn’t know precisely what to ask for, and so only that word came out.

“…m-more…”

Selaer seemed to know, though, and he moved harder, the impact carrying her along, dragging it out beyond what had happened the night before. As it waned, trickling away, her body was shaking, and she lay flat on top of him, her cheek pressed against his chest. Very slowly, he still moved inside her, and still, it felt good.

“Didn’t you…?” She murmured.

“No.”

“No?”

“It takes a little more time.” He stroked her hair, arms wrapping around her.

“It didn’t last night.”

“That was different. It had been a very long time since…the last time.” He groaned again, though, as she pushed herself up to look at him. “Do you want me to stop?”

“Of course not.” Grenna shook her head, and Selaer turned her over again, kissing her.

They moved together, her arms around him, feeling his muscles contract beneath her hands. She reveled both the sensation and the closeness. Her whole life she’d spent apart from others, intimacy was a foreign, almost mythical thing that now felt like a drug.

The beauty of everything being so new and unknown was that she had very few expectations. When he started breathing harder, and the pace picked up, Grenna was surprised to find that her own climax was building again. She inhaled sharply, digging her heels into the bedding, lifting her hips to meet his. Selaer grunted with his effort, a flurry of frantic motion from them both, punctuated with panting and soft moans. She gasped, making a surprised sound as she reached her peak, and he drove into her faster, his strokes more powerful. His eyes had dilated, pupils huge and black, rimmed with golden yellow, then he came with what was almost a roar, shuddering and arching his back.

It was a sight to behold, Grenna thought, to look up at him in the throes of pleasure she had given him after he’d pleased her so well. He kept himself from squashing her, and she stretched languidly beneath him, grinning like a silly idiot.

“I think I quite like this.” She murmured as Selaer shifted and lay beside her.

“You won’t be insatiable forever.”

“I’m _sated_ right now.” She rolled her eyes but paused. “Why? Is it very inconvenient for you? I’ve always been under the impression that the male drive to copulate as often as possible, senselessly or otherwise, was not limited to men or mer.”

“I am content to appease your desires, Grenna, regardless of frequency.”

“How old are you?” She had no idea, really. To her, it was impossible to determine how old an Argonian was if they weren’t obviously a child or apparently _very_ old. Everything in between, to her, looked the same.

“Old enough.”

“Are you a lot older than I am?”

“How old are you?” He smirked.

“Twenty-three…”

“I am older than you.”

“By how much? I cannot imagine you’re nearing infirmity.”

“Do I seem infirm?” Selaer glanced downward at himself, and she gave a snort.

“From what I can tell, extrapolating from only two encounters, you are _plenty_ firm.” Daringly, she reached down to find he was still erect, and then frowned. “But I was sure that you…”

“I did. Don’t worry.”

“I think I’ve got _quite_ a lot to learn yet about the physiology of the Saxhleel.” She murmured.

It was only early in the afternoon still as Grenna stepped outside into the yard. For as much as she enjoyed Selaer’s company, it was a relief that he didn’t insist on being attached at the hip. The thought was interrupted, however, by a loud caw. Glancing around, she saw one crow quite far away in a tree. There hadn’t seemed to be many crows in the Black Marsh, from what she’d noticed so far. As she reached for the gate, the caw came again, startling her, and she looked up.

Perched at the top of the gate, peering down at her, was a sleek, black crow.

“Healer!” It squawked at her.

“What?” Grenna stared, not sure what to think.

“Come help, please!” The crow was _talking_. In this instance, she definitely couldn’t blame any hallucinations on testing out strange plants.

“Help you? A crow?”

“Please…the Duke!” The large, black bird flapped his wings in frustration. “I beseech you, healer! There are several, they are hurt! Come! You must! _CAW!_ ” Was this some kind of trap?

“…alright…” Grenna warily opened the gate as the crow seemed to lose its mind, joyful that she’d agreed. She probably ought to have been a little more bothered by a crow speaking to her, but she had a curious nature.

“This way, gracious healer! Follow, follow!” The crow flew a little erratically, keeping her in view so she could follow. They left the road almost immediately, and fortunately, the area wasn’t entirely unknown. As they got farther into the fen, she heard the cacophony of crows cawing and flapping. The sound was almost deafening, urgent, and desperate. There was a swirling swarm of them, and they parted to let her through as she drew up close. On the ground in the center lay three crows, one of them was thrashing about. They quieted, almost eerily, hundreds and hundreds of eyes trained on her.

“Poisoned. They lie dying, healer.” The crow who’d fetched her landed on Grenna’s shoulder. “Usually, we are not so vulnerable, Light Bearing Lady, as you may notice we are not your average crows! But this is dark…dark and madness….dark madness that someone sought to harm our court! Our Duke, his consort, and his most loyal Knight!!!! HELP THEM, _WE ALL BEG_!”

Grenna knelt by the crows, and they stared up at her with anxious, beady eyes. One was very still, and its eyes slowly closed. She put her hands out over them, and whispering her apologies, she lined up their feathery bodies, bringing them closer to her. Her lips moved as she silently said the words, the glow beginning to emanate from her palms.

Every crow had gone silent, not so much as a single feather ruffled. Grenna’s heart was pounding; she’d never healed magical creatures before, though she knew they existed. From the very depths of her soul, she pleaded with the powers of Nirn and nature, and even the Hist, as this was the Hist’s domain.

The glow grew brighter, and she put her hands atop their sleek feathers, closing her eyes and seeking the poison, slowly but surely destroying every speck of it. It was unlike anything she’d ever encountered before, but then the same could be said of these crows. They were no mere animals, that much was clear. But the three birds now in her care had all gone very still. A ripple of anxiousness went out across those gathered. A small note of panic slithered through her as she touched them.

The crow was back on her shoulder. “What have you done?”


	8. Gratitude

Perfect. This was just exactly what she needed. Dead talking crows. Grenna glanced around at the unreadable faces of the feathered gathering. Was this it? Was this her end? Pecked to death by furious talking crows because she somehow, in an attempt to save their royalty, _killed_ them instead? Very gingerly, she reached out and poked the belly of their Duke.

There was an explosion of movement, flapping wings, and screaming caws as they righted themselves then blinked, looking up at her. Chatter amongst the others broke out at once. Bits of down and feather wafted down as the dust settled.

“ _What_ is the meaning of this?!” The Duke ruffled his feathers, and silence fell.

“Well, I was told you’d been poisoned and were about to die, so I tried to help.” She offered. “It seems that you are…restored?” He gave his wings an experimental flap then peered up at her again.

“It seems so. In that case, Gracious Lady of Enormity…we offer our sincere thanks and friendship.” He fanned his wings out and gave her a deep bow, which every other crow present promptly mirrored.

“Erm…you’re quite welcome. I’m glad I could help. But…if that’s all, I ought to get going…” She started to get to her feet when the Duke gave an outraged squawk.

“What?! Before we bestow our _friendship_ upon you?!” He seemed deeply affronted, and Grenna had no idea what to do as the gathering also began to caw indignantly.

“Apologies…duke. Obviously, I am unfamiliar with your ways.” She fidgeted uneasily. What _were_ these birds? Not ordinary crows, _obviously_.

“I…” He raised his wings, and silence fell immediately. “…the illustrious and deserving Duke of the Blackfeather Court, do bestow upon…” He leaned forward, lowering his voice. “Who are you?”

“Grenna.”

“…bestow upon Grenna the Huge, our friendship as thanks for our lives!” His announcement was met with a crowing chorus of agreement. Grenna stared down at the Duke, biting her cheek to keep from saying anything about the less than flattering title. The Duke glanced around and spotted a mud puddle, then flapped over. He dipped his feet into it, and she frowned.

“Put out your arm.” She’d forgotten the one that was on her shoulder and he startled her, but still unsure, she complied, holding out her arm, palm up. “ _The sleeve, roll it up!_ ” He hissed in her ear. She rolled her eyes and did as instructed. Now, with her being adequately prepared, apparently, the Duke flapped back to her. He landed on her outstretched arm, marking her with the mud from his feet. There was a sharp burning sensation, and she resisted the urge to jerk back and waited for him to move again.

“There.” He hopped to the ground, looking up once more. “This giantess, the Light Bearing Lady, Grenna of The Marsh…is _friend_ to the Blackfeather Court.” He was more solemn now. “We are strong, friend. If you call us, we will come.”

Grenna jumped back as a strange, black and violet puddle bloomed on the ground, and the flock took flight, swirling around it, cawing and screaming. To her horror, they all dove downward straight at the ground and vanished into the puddle. It drained away just as it had appeared, and she was left sitting in the dirt amidst dust, feathers, and rampant confusion.

“What in the bloody f—”

“Gah! He loves his dramatic exits.”

Grenna let out a short scream, jerking away from the voice in her ear, and the crow flapped away from her and then landed on the ground, completely unbothered.

“ _What_ just happened?”

“You saved our Duke. He will not say so, but he owes you a life-debt. That is why you’re marked.” The crow pecked a little at the dirt, eyeing a bug as it crawled out from beneath a stone.

“Marked? What, his muddy footprints on my arm?” She looked down, and as the dried mud flaked off, it revealed a blackening mark beneath it. She gasped, quickly rubbing off the rest of the dirt and found that she now had two permanent crow footprints on the inside of her forearm. She touched them lightly and looked back at the crow. “What does this mean?”

“He _told_ you.” He sighed and shook his head. “You’re a good healer, but a bit slow.”

“I _beg_ your pardon?” Grenna scoffed.

“When you need the Court, the Court will come.”

“Well then, who are you and why are you still here?” She got to her feet, brushing dirt from her breeches.

“Your servant. We will never be very far, my hulking Lady.” He bowed much the same way the Duke had. _We?_ She glanced around, spotting at least a handful of crows high above in the boughs of the trees.

“Stop that. Please.”

“What?”

“Referring to my…size.”

“But you are, you are grand and vast, and you saved the duke.” He seemed a little oblivious, but then, he was a talking crow. What would he know about people?

“Would you care to be called a tiny bird?”

“ _NO!_ ”

“You see?”

“I see. Just my Lady, then? Will that suffice, you picky human?”

“Very well.”

“Where are we going?” He asked, and a small dread settled into her gut.

“What do you mean, _we?_ ”

“We, WE!”

“No, I don’t think so. Things are complicated enough without talking crows in my business, too.” Grenna folded her arms.

“You aren’t going to ask my name?” He flapped back to her shoulder, pulling a bit at strands of her hair with his beak.

She sighed heavily, but asked him. “What is your name?”

“I am an honor guard of our beloved duke, and I am called Noisybeak.”

“Noisybeak is your _name?_ ” A small laugh escaped, which seemed to offend him as he gave her hair a hard tug.

“I didn’t laugh at _your_ stupid name!” His moniker had been aptly bestowed, it seemed.

“Alright, I’m sorry.” She shook her head, unsure what to make of this barrage of insanity. “I really must be going, and I need to go on my own, so, if it’s alright with you, I’d rather not have an entourage.” Especially if it was comprised of crows that she wasn’t certain were _real_. Did she have a head injury?

“Fine, fine. Strange human. We’ll stay back. But we _are_ here.”

Grenna made her way back to the road, or rather, what passed for a road in Shadowfen. She wanted to stop by the tavern as well as perhaps submit an order or two to the carpenter. It was strange to think that she was staying with someone she’d met just two weeks earlier. She had no explanation or understanding why she and Selaer were so suddenly _very_ close.

“How can I help you?” The question pulled Grenna back out of her thoughts, and she found that she’d automatically taken herself to the artisan area inside the village. The carpenter, a slim, short Argonian, peered at her as he waited patiently for a response.

“Oh, um…” She got her bearings and cleared her throat. “Well, I’m hoping you might be able to build me a couple of items…the first would be a fairly sizeable apothecary cabinet, the other would be a smaller, portable version…a case, if you will. If that makes sense.” She fidgeted as he took notes.

“Yes, I understand.” He nodded. “What other specifications? Type of wood? Hardware?”

“Ah…I don’t have much preference, really. I’m concerned mostly with function over form, so I give you creative license to do as you see fit. And I’ve seen your work, I trust you.” She smiled, and he gave a nod, but watched her until she was squirming inside. “I…I’m sorry, you must be expecting an advance payment. Of course. I have enough here…” Grenna started to rummage in her satchel.

“No, no payment.”

“What?” Confused, she frowned a little. “Afterward, then?”

“None at all, _Heals-With-Light_.” He cocked his head to one side, giving an amused flick of his tail as her mouth dropped open.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“You’ve helped my son twice, now, and asked for nothing.” The carpenter shrugged. “That means something. These items will be our thanks.”

“I…what, no, you don’t have to, really, I can certainly offer payment for goods and services, I would never expect that you or…”

“And I will certainly refuse your payment. You’re a friend here. The children talk about you a good deal.” He made a small, amused sound.

“Ah, well…they’re…quite nice, erm…I mean, I haven’t been in Stormhold long, I’m still a stranger, I know.” This was completely unexpected, and Grenna could hardly string together a coherent thought to express her gratitude and appreciation for the hospitality she’d been shown since coming there.

“The Shadowscale trusts you. Not a one of us needs more than that. You are welcome here.” He closed his book and set it aside.

“May I at least have your name?” She was utterly flabbergasted.

“Jeet-meh.”

“Thank you, Jeet-meh, I am Grenna, and I will do my best to keep being a friend here.” It gave her a strange, happy little feeling. Acceptance. It was foreign to her. He nodded before turning to his workbench, and she found herself smiling as she started back for the Coin Brothers. Maybe this would be her home, after all.

Ahdra was talking to two patrons at their table when Grenna stepped through the door. She glanced up before ending her conversation and motioning to the back. She slipped into the back room, and Grenna followed.

“I have some things for you.”

“ _More_ things?” Grenna shook her head in disbelief.

“Well, these are gifts. Most people are still too skittish to approach Selaer’s house, so they left them here for you.” Ahdra explained, pulling out a crate.

“Because I work here or because you’re his sister?”

“They don’t know we are egg-siblings. Or, if they do, no one has ever said so.”

“Oh, I see…what…what is all this?” Grenna looked into the crate. It was filled nearly to the brim with bundles of plants, small jars containing various ingredients, and a large number of clean, empty new bottles and jars.

“They heard what happened, that everything you had washed away.”

“They? They who?”

“Everyone you’ve helped.” Ahdra gave a shrug. It had simply never occurred to Grenna that those she had aided since coming to Stormhold had ever paid her a second thought.

“I…wow.” She blinked back a small prickling in her eyes. “I didn’t know they…cared.” Her fingers moved over the cool glass containers as she breathed in the scent of herbs.

“I have to think that where you came from is riddled with cruel, unfeeling people. Are they very selfish there?”

“I have no words for their selfishness.” Grenna’s voice was a whisper. It seemed so sad that simple kindness shocked and awed her.

“Good that you came here then.”

“Yes, I think so.”

“I’m surprised he let you out on your own today.” Ahdra snorted, chuckling.

“Why? Because I’m likely to come to harm toddling about like an unsupervised infant?” Grenna rolled her eyes, hoping that she really wasn’t viewed in such a light.

“No, because he is enamored with you, and undoubtedly would prefer you in his bed than out wandering Stormhold.”

“Oh.” Grenna’s cheeks burned hot as they veered abruptly into territory that she had no wish to discuss. “Are there talking crows in the Black Marsh?” That question made Ahdra narrow her eyes, suddenly.

“Did you thump your head on the headboard?” Ahdra shook her head. “There are rarely ever crows, I cannot think talking ones would be any good at all.” Icy dread made its way into Grenna’s chest as she wondered what exactly she had done by helping the so-called Blackfeather Court. “Why do you ask?”

“Something silly I read.” She muttered, looking back at the crate.

“I won’t ask.” Ahdra clapped her on the shoulder. “Best you get these things out of here, though. There isn’t enough room as it is.”

“Right, of course. And I’ll be back to work in the morning.”

“Good.” Ahdra turned and left the back room without another word as Grenna carefully secured her sleeve, lest it slide up, and someone see.

The Hist, stationary as the center of the town, drew her attention as Grenna carried out her crate of gifted supplies. She saw no one close to it, and the Tree-Minder was nowhere in sight, so she made her way over, setting the crate in the grass before sitting down cross-legged beside the roots.

The sounds of the town seemed to fall away as her fingers trailed over the springy blades of grass. When leaving High Rock, Grenna prepared herself for a lonely, rough existence. Travel, little money, scarce food…while hoping she could at least get by with her healing and alchemy skills. But now, this was where she’d ended up. Feeling feelings for someone and sharing his bed. Befriending townspeople. _Living_. And now, sitting at the foot of an ancient, unfathomably sentient tree.

Gently, she touched the bark, but there was no jarring vision this time, fortunately. It merely felt alive, as any person she might touch would.

“I’ve never…been _religious_. It’s difficult for me to put belief into something immaterial. Sounds strange, considering my chosen profession, and now I’m talking to a tree. But…you, the Hist…are a living, breathing thing.” The words were barely audible. “I can’t help but think that all this has come to pass by…I don’t know, your intervention, somehow. If so, I am grateful, though I don’t know the right way to express that. There is…quite a lot I don’t know about being here. I’ll do my best, though…to never be a detriment to those who have shown me hospitality.”

The breeze rustled the Hist’s leaves, and several floated down to her. None of the other branches had shed any, however, and she frowned, carefully picking up each one.

“A gift.” The Tree-Minder had appeared out of nowhere, again, startling her. “My apologies, Grenna. I didn’t mean to sneak up.”

“Why would the Hist give me a gift?”

“I’m not told why, only what is.” Her voice was kind. “You think little of your role in life, but you must know that you matter. You weren’t born here, but that’s of no consequence. This is where you’re meant to be. Amongst the boughs of the Hist, close to the heart of the Marsh.” She didn’t allow Grenna to respond before strolling away again, to vanish to wherever it was she sat communing with the tree.

Gently, Grenna placed the leaves into one of the unused jars, securing it back in the crate before she got to her feet, peering at the tree for a long moment.

“I guess I’d better stay, then, if I want to know why any of this is…the way it is.”

There were no crows on the walk back to Selaer’s house. She didn’t hear even so much as a caw. In truth, everything felt very still and calm. It was serene, though, rather than uneasy. Hoisting the now heavy crate, she opened the gate, shutting it behind her. The load hadn’t been so bad at first, but it was a bit of a walk from the center of Stormhold all the way back here.

Selaer was sitting at the table with a selection of blades in front of him as he cleaned and sharpened. He glanced over one shoulder at her, set the knife down, and rose to take the crate, putting it on a bench off to the side.

“I see you did quite a lot of shopping. At least it was fruitful.”

“Those were all gifts. The people here are very kind. Even the carpenter refused to take my money for the order I placed.” Grenna shook her head, looking up at him, marveling a little that this was where she was now.

“Understandable. You’ve helped quite a few.”

“What do you know about talking crows?” The words blurted out before she could stop them. Selaer’s eyes narrowed, not unlike his sister’s.

“Talking crows? I’ve heard mention of them, they’re daedra, typically, if they’re not simply enchanted by someone to appear to be talking.”

“Daedra?” Grenna paled, staring up at him.

“Why? What happened?” Selaer took her by the shoulders. She rolled up her sleeve, and the footprints looked to be fading but darkened when she touched them. He grabbed her wrist, almost too tightly, peering down at them.

“You were gone for barely two hours, Grenna, and managed to be marked by _daedric_ crows? _How_?” He stared at her.

“ _Don’t_ look at me like I’m an errant child.” She pulled her arm back, glaring a little. “I don’t really care for the way you say those things. I am more than capable of handling myself if the need arises.” She pulled down the sleeve again, going to the crate to peer at its contents. “I crossed Tamriel by myself and am no worse for it, so.”

“I…didn’t mean it that way.” Selaer let out a long breath. “Apologies.” He reached tentatively for her shoulder, and when she didn’t pull away, he let it lie there. Grenna took a step closer to him. Apology accepted. “How did it happen?”

“When I left here, one stopped me by the gate. He begged me to help because their Duke was dying. Which he _was._ It was a very dark, malicious poison, but I helped them. I’m not sure what would be worse, helping talking crows and gaining their friendship,” She pointed to her arm. “Or not helping them and becoming their enemy.”

“Fair point. As it stands, they owe you, not the other way around, so that is definitely better.” He reached into the crate, taking the bottle with Hist leaves. He didn’t have to ask the question.

“No, I didn’t pick them. I sat by the roots before I came back. Muttering nonsense mostly. Just those leaves fell around me. The Tree-Minder said they’re a gift, but I have no idea what properties there are in Hist leaves. Or bark, or sap, or the flowers…not yet anyway.

“It must not have been nonsense, then.” He put the jar back. “You’re going to need someplace to put your things.”

“What?” Grenna’s throat felt tight. She was just a guest, wasn’t she? She’d never assume otherwise or seek to impose. Selaer looked around the mud house and scratched his chin.

“We could make more room, I think.” He was half talking to himself.

“Make room…for me?” She stared at his back. His shoulders broad as his arms crossed in contemplation. He wore a fairly loose shirt, but his breeches clung to him. Would she ever not be distracted this way by him?

“Would you like that?” Selaer looked back at Grenna.

“I would never ask you to do that…” She squirmed internally.

“If you prefer to stay somewhere else, that’s alright, I know we can find somewhere suitable for you…” He started, his voice understanding.

“N-no, that’s not what I said; I just…what I mean is that…it’s very…” _Oh no._ She definitely didn’t want him to think she wanted to be somewhere else. “I want…I…” He came closer and tilted her chin upward to meet his gaze.

“Do you want to stay here? With me?”

“Yes.” She exhaled. “But only if…” He put his fingers over her lips, stopping her.

“I want you to stay. Perhaps I am selfish that I didn’t ask directly before.”

“I don’t think you are.” All other thoughts and concerns vanished when she touched him, her hands pressed flat against the hard plane of his abdomen. With mischief in her eyes, she gently tugged his shirt from the waistband of his breeches.

“More?” His crest rose as he laughed softly, and she dropped her hands, cheeks reddening.

“I suppose that _is_ a bit wanton, isn’t it?” Grenna looked down, but in one swift movement, Selaer pulled his shirt over his head and dropped it.

“No.” He scooped her up, and she let out a surprised sort of squeak as he took her back to the bed and sat her down on it. Tugging the hem of her own shirt from her trousers, he plucked the garment off her, and it joined the others which had yet to be picked up.

Selaer pressed her back as he leaned over her, his teeth grazing her neck. His tongue trailed down between her breasts as he took hold of them. But his descent continued, his mouth brushing against the softness of her belly while he unlaced her breeches with one hand.

“Would you like to go to Mournhold?” He nuzzled between her still-clothed thighs.

“Is…is that a euphemism?” Grenna panted. He put his head up.

“It is now.” He chuckled. “But I meant the city.”

“Oh. Bit of a weird time to ask, don’t you think?” She lifted her hips a little, allowing him to yank down the troublesome trousers. “I’d probably say yes to just about anything right now, but, erm…what’s in Mournhold?” His tongue flicked against her, and she gasped.

“More supplies for your medicine. And I must meet with someone there. Two birds…one stone.” His voice vibrated against her. She clutched the coverlet in her fists.

“I’ll go wherever you bloody well want me to.” Writhing against his mouth, travel plans were the furthest thing from her mind.

“Mm, good. I’ll make the arrangements.”


	9. Mournhold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to Dovahkiin7718 for her collaboration during this chapter with her character Morgana!

Mournhold’s southeastern gate loomed over Grenna and Selaer as they rode up. She had passed the city as she fled south, well over a month earlier. Dunmer architecture was severe with its pointed arches and sharp corners. The dark gray stone of the wall that surrounded the entire city felt disconcertingly foreboding.

It was made worse still by Selaer’s general distaste for Morrowind and the Dunmer altogether. A scant three years earlier, the Argonians had still been slaves to the Dark Elves, and it didn’t matter that they were free now, they were still looked down upon. There was unrest in the Black Marsh since the northern regions had agreed to be part of the newly formed Ebonheart Pact. Selaer had explained that the farther into the Marsh they went, the more dangerous it was for non-Argonians, and it was especially unsafe for mer.

“How long must we be here?” Grenna’s horse shifted beneath her, sensing her unease.

“We will leave tomorrow afternoon.” Selaer looked over at her. “Are you afraid? No one here will harm you.”

“Afraid isn’t the word.” She shrugged a little. “Uneasy, maybe. Or just perhaps not very comfortable.”

“That’s how most people feel in the presence of the Dunmer.” Selaer made an amused sound. “Come, we need to get a room at the inn. And I’m hungry.”

Grenna’s stomach rumbled in agreement as they urged their horses forward. They’d been riding since dawn, and now, it was already late in the day. Ahdra had _not_ been overjoyed when Grenna explained to her that she would work for three entire days before they were to be off on this little excursion.

Inside the city, no one paid them any mind; most people were far more concerned with their own business. They stabled their horses, and Grenna stayed close to Selaer as they made their way through the city. She bumped into him when he stopped suddenly, and her eyes fell on the swinging wooden sign out front. _The Flaming Nix_. Adjusting her hood a little bit, she followed through the front door and paid no attention as Selaer spoke with the innkeeper.

In here, they were getting a few more glances. Selaer was much bigger than most Argonians, which became more apparent when they were in enclosed areas. The innkeeper looked a little apprehensive but took Selaer’s gold and handed over a key. With a small touch to her shoulder, Selaer bid her to follow him. It wasn’t the cleanest place, at least not the main barroom. There was the distinct odor of old ale and spilt drinks.

“Oh, good.” Grenna let out a long, relieved breath as she stepped into their room. Unlike the area they’d passed through, the room was tidy and clean.

“I wouldn’t bring you someplace unclean, Grenna.” As always, Selaer’s keen power of observation seemed to penetrate her very thoughts. By now, she’d started to get used to it.

“Well, I never know what to expect.” She murmured, setting down her pack. She quickly took stock of the coin she carried in the satchel still slung across her chest. She’d brought plenty of gold with which to restock her lost supplies. If all went as planned, she hoped to depart tomorrow with saddlebags full of reagents.

Selaer sat down on the bed then laid back across it, letting out a long breath. The ride had been long, and Grenna imagined that they were both at least a little saddle sore. She’d spent more of her life on horseback than almost anywhere else; she fancied herself somewhat immune to such provincial ailments. Her horsemanship was the only thing her parents had ever said anything remotely complimentary about.

“Legs stiff?” She sidled up to him and sat down as well, her hand resting on his thigh.

“A bit. You?” He turned his head to look at her.

“Not too bad. I could help if you’d like.”

“Oh?” Selaer’s eyes widened a little.

“Of course. Do you think I can mend a stab wound but not soothe aching muscles?” Grenna turned toward him and leaned forward, putting her hands against his narrow hips. The soft gold glow heated her palms as she eased the strain, moving her hands down his legs and knees, then back up again. He gave a hum of appreciation, and feeling cheeky, she slid her fingers along the inside of his thigh and over his groin. Selaer’s eyes closed, and his mouth opened a little bit as her hand moved, warmth radiating from beneath it.

“That’s…quite nice…” He exhaled, folding his arms behind his head. Taking the cue to continue, Grenna quickly unfastened his belt and the laces at his fly before sliding her hand into his trousers, massaging him the way he’d shown her the first night. He was getting hard and felt him begin to unsheathe. She let go briefly to wet her palm before resuming, wrapping her fingers around his rigid length, stroking slowly.

“Is that alright?” She asked gently, and he nodded, then groaned in response. It brought her a great deal of pleasure and satisfaction to elicit these responses from him, to know she could arouse and please him as much as he did her.

Grenna freed him from the constraints of his trousers, still moving her hand and applying the right pressure. Glancing to where he lay, mouth agape in enjoyment, she licked her lips and bent down, gently touching the tip with her tongue. Her breath was hot against him, and suddenly, she felt his body tense up. There was _no_ way that such a thing made him go _that_ quickly.

Selaer sat up, and just as he had the night before, drew her up and kissed her deeply, rather than allowing her to proceed. She was confused, though. He’d told her before that he’d like very much for her to do that.

“We need to get to the market before the shops close.” He told her, kissing her cheek and her ear.

“Oh.” Grenna chewed her bottom lip, watching as Selaer got to his feet and did his pants back up.

“Feels as if I wasn’t riding at all today.” He sounded pleased, and she didn’t look up, instead, pretending to recheck her satchel, feeling strange. She wanted to ask him if he simply didn’t enjoy it, that would be fine, of course, but something kept the words from coming out.

“There is much to buy.” She murmured, also standing. Selaer took her by the shoulders and tilted her chin up, pressing a light kiss to her lips.

“Tonight, yes?” The words held promise and smiled, nodding.

“Of course.”

“For now, we must get to the vendors and get some dinner as well.”

Her thoughts seemed to refuse to wander away from what happened, or rather, what didn’t happen. Usually, she was more than capable of being completely distracted by reagents and ingredients. A city of this size, it was a veritable cornucopia of supplies. She sniffed, examined, and assessed everything she could, paying her gold and moving on. Selaer wasn’t always at her side, but he was nearby, always in sight.

The sun was setting, and the stalls and shops had begun to close after an hour or so of Grenna’s shopping. Quietly, they returned to the inn, got their plates of dinner, and retired to the room. As the silence grew uncomfortable, she began explaining each ingredient as she took it from the satchel and organized it in her pack instead.

“What’s the matter?” Selaer pulled Grenna across his lap after they’d finished eating, and she’d undressed down to her shirt.

“Nothing’s the matter.” She smiled in what she hoped was a convincing manner. They’d spent a portion of each night for the last few nights naked and entwined with one another, it shouldn’t have been difficult to ask him if the thing she had tried to do was simply something he didn’t like.

“You’re the only person I’ve ever met who fidgets with actual words.” His arms were snug around her, and she’d been finding that it was a sensation she liked quite a lot.

“I think the word you’re looking for is babbling.”

“No, your babbling and verbal fidgeting are different.” He shook his head, but looked amused, nuzzling her gently.

“What’s different about them?” She was curious what knowledge he’d gleaned from observing her. She’d never been _analyzed_ before, not to her knowledge, at least.

“You babble when you’re nervous, mixing up your words and blushing.” He touched her cheek lightly. “Your blush is rather fetching, with your cheeks all red.”

“I hate my damnable propensity for that.” She complained. “But go on.”

“You fidget verbally when something is bothering you. All your words are clear and simply pour out to fill the silence.” He was right. She’d never thought about it, but stared at him, a little perturbed. It didn’t feel fair that her every thought and motive was laid bare for him to discern when he was wholly an enigma.

“I’m not sure I like my personality picked apart in such a way.” Her lips pressed into a hard line. “You don’t have to tell me all these things that you see.”

“It wasn’t my intention to embarrass you, Grenna.” He brushed back a strand of her hair, then pulled the combs from it that kept it up and out of the way. “I don’t want you to think you’re transparent to everyone, because you’re not. Selfishly I take pleasure in the fact your guard is down with me.” Grenna had never seen anyone look at her with adoration before, and it was startling. “I can’t read your mind, though. I don’t know your thoughts or what’s bothering you. If I can help, I will, in whatever way. By listening if you wish to talk, or…driving my blade into the heart of whoever offends you.” A smile suddenly bloomed on her face, and she looked down, shaking her head.

“You’re quite funny when you want to be.”

“A secret that no one else knows.” Selaer kissed her then, in the way she’d learned was a prelude to lovemaking. She would have never guessed that it was possible to taste and smell passion, to be overwhelmed by desire in just a kiss. There was so much she didn’t know.

“Tell me what to do. What do you like?” She asked, hoping to spark a discussion and learn.

“I like when you touch me. Everything you do pleases me.” She tried not to sigh, and he kissed her again before she could reply. He was wearing just his trousers, and after some minor wriggling, they were both undressed and under the covers.

Grenna gently stopped his descent as he intended to do for her what she hadn’t been able to do for him. Instead, she kissed his mouth, moving beneath him.

“Would you like me on my front?” The question was quiet, almost tentative. Neither of them had suggested it that way yet, and he blinked as though somehow surprised.

“If that’s what you’d like to do, we can.” It wasn’t the response she was hoping for. It would have been better if he’d said whether it was something he liked and how much. Selaer lifted himself off her a bit, and she turned over.

He was gentle and considerate, as he had been with her every time. Grenna liked very much the way things felt as she lay on her stomach, but at his pace, it took her a long time to get close, and even then, she didn’t quite achieve completion. Selaer stopped when he realized something wasn’t quite right, and they faced one another.

“You must tell me to stop, Grenna, when you don’t want to go on.” He was so earnest and sweet. But he was holding back, she could feel it. Every time they were together, there seemed to be a threshold that he would never cross, and only once had he come close.

“I don’t think Mournhold agrees with me.” She told him quietly. “I think I will feel better when we get back…to Stormhold.” The word _home_ had nearly popped out, and it was strange to feel as though that terrifying, deadly fen was more her home than High Rock ever had been.

Her mind wandered in the dark as Selaer fell asleep beside her. She could hear and feel the deep, even breathing of his genuine slumber. It was unpleasant to be without the proper knowledge of Argonian bodies. In theory, she knew the kinds of things that pleased men and mer because she had many patients of both over the years. She’d been helping people since she was a mere thirteen years old. Though, initially, it had been in secret.

What she needed was to discuss the matter with an expert. There _was_ a brothel in Mournhold. She’d gleaned some tidbits of information about it whilst walking about the market that evening. Surely someone who worked there could tell her the sorts of things that Argonian men found the most pleasurable. If Selaer wasn’t going to tell her, someone needed to.

Very gingerly, Grenna slipped out of bed and lit a small stub of a candle. Useful information required good payment, and in this case, she wanted a little trust as well. Sitting cross-legged on the floor beside her pack, she pulled out various ingredients and, in a dish, combined them carefully. When it was done, she filled several bottles with the solution, corked them, and then sealed the bottles with wax. It was a tonic beneficial for businesses of that sort. Many women had died or become very sick from old wives’ tales and bad medicine. Grenna’s was effective, had minimal discomfort, and no one had ever died. Certainly, this would be worth some knowledge.

Grenna picked at her breakfast in the morning, finding she had little appetite. The plan was to spend the morning acquiring more of her harder-to-find supplies, then Selaer had business to attend to, and she would be left to her own devices for a short while. That was the window of opportunity that she needed.

To her surprise, Selaer took her through a seedy hatch behind a barn. It led down a ladder and into what appeared to be a crypt. The air was damp and dank, but she could hear voices from down the narrow corridor as she followed him. Well, she’d asked him where she might find potentially illegal, but incredibly vital substances. It made sense that such things would be found in a place like this.

They called it the Thieves Refuge, a place to go to trade stolen wares and peddle illegal goods. Selaer bid her to do her shopping and an unsavory looking man who seemed to know him approached smiling.

There was one stall that seemed to have an extensive stock, and Grenna peered closely at the labeled jars and bottles. She sniffed and examined many before narrowing her eyes at the very thin, wan, old Imperial woman, whose face was pinched like a ferret’s.

“You know, I’d have expected the things sold down here to have _not_ been cut with inferior and allegedly inert ingredients. Do you know the sort of effect that could have?” These were not substances anyone should simply be trifling with. The old woman looked unbothered by the accusation.

“If a person cannot tell that the herbs aren’t pure, then they don’t deserve to buy the higher quality stock.” Her back hunched, the old woman pulled a tray of smaller glass jars from beneath the stall and set it on a side table. “I believe these might be more to your standards, _miss_.”

Grenna glanced over her shoulder and saw Selaer still deep in discussion with his associate before sidling around to the side table to examine the new selection.

“These are much nicer.” She murmured. “Looks like you’ll be making a fair bit of gold today. Though…” Grenna paused, glancing around them again, attempting but likely failing to appear discreet. “…I do have some other alchemical needs, things that are of a more anatomical nature as opposed to herbal.”

The old woman leaned close, not looking altogether at ease.

“There is a spot down here for such things, but...you may want to be aware, there is a Shadowscale who has been watching you.”

“Oh, yes. He’s my…the…ah, he’s mine. He’s with me, I mean. Not to worry.” Grenna gave a small, dismissive wave.

“I see.” The old woman cleared her throat a little, perhaps uncomfortable with the nature of Grenna’s involvement with an Argonian. “Well, through that passage over there.” She pointed. “Make a left, go down the stairs, take the next two rights, tell the ominous-looking Dunmer that _The Hag_ sent you, and he will let you in. If what you’re looking for isn’t down there, then you’re not going to find it.”

“Oh, wonderful. Thank you so much.” She smiled, selected several of the reagent jars before rummaging in her satchel for the gold, then handed it over. “Do enjoy the rest of your day mistress…erm…Hag.”

Grenna walked away as the old woman gave an amused snort, then followed the directions she was given, stopping at the indeed ominous-looking Dunmer who pinned her with an unpleasant glare. He was tall, bulky, and stood with his arms crossed in what no doubt was a very threatening way.

“Ah...the Hag sent me.” She waited a second as his eyes narrowed further at her, then without a word, but looking greatly inconvenienced, he pushed open a wooden door, and she stepped in.

The chamber had an odd smell to it, which wasn’t surprising considering the sort of business and trade done there. There was one particularly elaborate stall with racks of ingredients in jars, some dried and hung. There were herbs as well as obviously anatomical items. Grenna stepped up beside a slim, red-haired woman in a cloak who was closely examining the wares. The woman pulled up her hood, clearly not wanting to be bothered, and Grenna tried to avoid bumping her.

The purveyor of the elaborate stall was a gnarled, graying Khajiit, who was blind in one eye. He appeared displeased, but that could simply have been his face. Grenna didn’t care enough to speculate as her eyes moved over what was available.

“New customer.” The Khajiit muttered unhappily.

“You sound disappointed. I’d be happy to take my gold elsewhere if it is such an imposition.” Grenna’s tone was a little sharper than intended, but her mood had not much improved since the night before. She was almost going to apologize for the harshness, but the vendor removed all desire for amiability.

“Select. Then go.” He snapped, rudely, then turned away and started scribbling once more in a small book.

“ _Wonderful_ customer service.” Her grumbling was more audible than she meant, but oh well. Grenna turned to look at the rack of ingredients and accidentally bumped into the woman beside her. “ _Oh!_ Apologies…so sorry. It’s a wonder I’m allowed in public at all.” The seedy underground really was no place for her. It was only a matter of time before she made enough noise that Selaer came looking for her.

“No harm done.” The woman gave a small, polite nod, then stepped closer to the crotchety vendor. “We agreed on the price of five-thousand gold for these, and I will not be shafted. If you don’t want to lose your stock, I suggest you pay, and now,” The tone was curt, and Grenna would have liked to look smug, pleased to see the rude bastard verbally eviscerated, but this was none of her business.

Pretending to be interested in the wares, Grenna observed the tense exchange. The Khajiit, given no choice, apparently, bent, seized a coffer from below, and slammed it onto his counter. The woman stood, arms crossed, watching as he begrudgingly counted out his payment.

“There. As agreed.” He dropped the pouch of coins into the woman’s hand, casting her one last dirty look with his good eye before shutting the coffer with a snap, dropping it back to the ground, and kicking it back under wherever it had come from.

Grenna tried to look more intently interested in the bottles but could feel eyes on her.

“You don’t want those if you need to make something decent or potent, they have been sitting on that shelf for months.” The woman told her in a hushed voice. She was right, of course, and Grenna wrinkled her nose at the product.

“I _thought_ it smelled off in here…in an unexpected sort of way. I mean, I wasn’t expecting roses.” She was certain the Khajiit saw her grimace. It was more than a little disappointing to have come all the way to this place for such low standards of quality. She looked at the stranger again. “Do you have any suggestions as to where I might find better…erm…wares?” The woman arched one brow at her, as fiery red as her hair.

“Let’s find a better place to talk, away from eavesdroppers.” She nodded her head toward the other end of the chamber. There were various chairs and tables set out behind dividers. Grenna didn’t want to guess what their purpose was, but the woman turned and strode toward the sitting area. Grenna stared after her for a moment, surprised that she’d gotten an affirmative response before following. She would either get excellent supplies or murdered. There seemed no in-between in this place.

“To be perfectly honest, I thought you’d say no.” Grenna gave a quiet, nervous laugh. Her eyes darted to the grimy table as she sat across from the woman who held a satchel on her lap in a way that suggested its contents were valuable. Sitting up perhaps a bit too straight, Grenna elected not to so much as touch the table, her already active imagination cooking up worst-case scenarios regarding what might be on it. “Alas, supplies of a more…questionable nature are quite difficult to fi—”

There was obviously violent commotion outside the chamber door. Something was slammed against the door, and it…the ominous Dunmer most likely…gave a sharp cry of pain before hitting the floor.

“Oh, damn it.” Grenna heaved a sigh, rolling her eyes. She’d forgotten completely to tell Selaer where she was off to. Of course, he’d have less than impeccable timing as he came to find her. The red-haired woman looked intrigued, but not alarmed at least.

“I’m guessing you know what that is all about?” The shop vendors had started murmuring amongst themselves a little nervous. “Do you need to attend to that?”

“Yes, I forgot to mention to someone that I was coming down here.” Grenna leaned back in her chair a little then murmured: “Not for the first time.”

The door banged open, and through it came Selaer looking a special brand of displeased. There was concern in his eyes, though. Everyone who’d been curious about the ruckus immediately returned to their work, very pointedly pretending not to notice the enormous, angry Shadowscale. When Selaer’s eyes fell on Grenna finally, he visibly relaxed then straightened his jacket. He stepped up to her, mouth open to speak, but halted upon seeing the other woman at the table. His questions were plain on his face, which was impressive for an Argonian.

“Did you _kill_ the doorman?” Grenna whispered. His eyes narrowed, and he said nothing, tail twitching ever so slightly. No, he didn’t. His gaze flicked from Grenna to the person she was sitting with and back again, full of mistrust. “Well, good. I _am_ in the midst of something, though.”

“I’ll be outside. As there doesn’t appear to be another exit from this chamber, I trust your departure won’t escape my notice. Again.” Selaer turned and strode for the door. Grenna watched after him, squirming internally a little bit. Was he really _that_ concerned about her?

“Sorry...a bit of a worrier, that one. He didn’t kill the doorman, if you’re wondering. I’m just a scatterbrained danger to myself, apparently.” She rolled her eyes but affected a smile. “Anyway, where were we?”

“He cares for you, quite a lot I would imagine for him to be that concerned.” The woman watched after Selaer for a brief moment. “It’s interesting for a Shadowscale.” Grenna silently wondered just what this person knew about Shadowscales. With a smirk, the woman added: “There _is_ a secret passage for emergencies, but we shouldn’t tell him that.”

“I have half a mind to use it just to see him squirm…” Grenna grinned at the thought. He’d be so angry, though. Back to business, her companion opened her satchel, removing a number of jars, herb bundles, and containers.

“I always keep a stock on hand and tend to sell a few things to vendors like the _friendly_ Khajiit over there.”

Grenna stared at the items with eyes as big as saucers. These were a great deal more useful than what she’d been hoping for,

“May I?” She looked up, itching to touch the wares, and the woman gave a nod. Grenna picked up jar after jar, looking closely, then inhaled the scent of the herb bundles. Glorious, _fresh_ ingredients. The things she could do with stock like that! “These are wonderful. I wasn’t sure I was ever going to be able to come across more Blood Root. What I did have was musty and old, not nearly potent enough…” She picked up a jar, obviously containing bone fragments. “Rib? Human or Mer?”

“That one is Man, but…” The woman took out two more jars. “I have mer.” She set it on the table. “Altmer, if I recall.” She set down the second jar. “This one is Argonian.” She sat back, and Grenna looked at the last jar for a short moment. “Just don’t ask how I obtained any of this.”

“Well, I’m certainly not one to judge the methods of reagent acquisition. I’ve partnered myself with a Shadowscale, after all. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t used that fact to do a little questionable acquiring of my own. Though, not as much as I’d have liked.” Grenna picked out the jars she wanted and three bundles of Blood Root. “I lost my entire stock in a flood, because, well...it’s the Black Marsh. If the carnivorous plants don’t get you, the wildlife or a flood certainly will!” She chuckled a little. “But, if you ever need to go someplace no one will find you, I highly recommend it.”

“I figured you would understand. As it turns out, I was making my way deeper into Black Marsh to make some connections, and obtain more ingredients, if possible.” The woman paused and held out her hand, “I know a bit about the Tamriel underworld myself. My name is Morgana.”

This Morgana person was clearly Breton, but it seemed highly unlikely that someone who carried around illegal reagents would even know of the Sidoric family. It seemed safe enough for the time being.

“Oh! Lovely. It’s very nice to meet you, I am Grenna, and the violent Argonian is Selaer.” She shook Morgana’s hand, enthusiastically. “We live in Stormhold if you pass through and need anything. The best way to get in touch would be to ask for Ahdra at the Coin Brothers tavern…if anyone else sees a Breton looking for me, you’re going to be met with nothing but denials of my existence!”

Friends were in short supply; they had been for as long as she could remember. The gardener had been her only friend for a very long time, and now there was Selaer, and well, Ahdra counted as well, she thought. Oh, and the crows, but they were indebted to her, so it didn’t really count, did it? Everyone had something following them, and Morgana seemed no different, but it didn’t matter to Grenna what it was.

“Those of us with things we prefer others not to know ought to stick together, I’d say. Oh! But if you’re looking for poisons, there is no place better than the Marsh.” She smiled brightly.

“I don’t have much need for poisons, but thank you for the advice.”

Grenna rummaged in her bag. “What do I owe you?” The gold pieces jingled quietly as she took hold of them.

“I’ll make you a deal, a thousand…and a promise to arrange a conversation with Selaer.” Morgana offered. Grenna fished for the right weight coins to make payment, her eyes narrowing slightly at her new friend. No one wanted to _talk_ to Selaer, mostly people wanted to flee for their lives from him. She suspected he would say no, anyway.

“Done…though, is there anything you can tell me about what it’s regarding? He’s more likely to agree if he knows at least a bit about what to expect.” Grenna held out the payment. “Though...don’t be surprised if he’s as responsive as a fence post. He’s not especially verbose...particularly with strangers.”

“It would be regarding…job contracts with the Shadowscales.” There was something Morgana _wasn’t_ saying, but Grenna decided not to pry. It would be up to Selaer to decide.

“It’s my understanding that they keep most things internal, but Selaer will know more about it than I would. I will, of course, ask him. I’ll be sure to insist, since you were so generous with your pricing.” She grinned.

“When do you expect you’ll be back in Stormhold?” Morgana started putting her things away once more.

“We’ll be heading back before the end of the day. Selaer doesn’t care very much for the Dunmer…for obvious reasons. So, we’ll probably end up camping somewhere overnight rather than waiting until morning. Though, I can’t say I blame him, really.” Grenna shrugged.

“Of course, I understand.” Morgana nodded, “I have one more thing to take care of this evening, and depending on how long that takes, I might leave tonight or in the morning. I could meet you at the Coin Brothers in the next day or two. If that is acceptable, of course.”

“Yes, of course. That would be fine; I’ll just let Ahdra know that if you come looking for me that it’s alright. Otherwise, she might not take very kindly to a Breton poking around and asking questions. Lucky for me, most allegedly civilized people are far too skittish to venture so far south.” Grenna made room in her bag for the new additions, then glanced in the direction of the door when there were more disgruntled noises. “I suppose I’d best get going before another fight breaks out. It was lovely to meet you, though!” She shook Morgana’s hand again despite seeming to be reserved.

“Same. I will see you soon.” Her new friend closed up her bag and smirked, “I’ll wait a few minutes before leaving behind you, we don’t need your Shadowscale any more paranoid. I have a few more things to sell anyways.”

“Ah, good thinking. I hope you have better luck with your other vendors than with that one.” Grenna nodded toward the Khajiit then made for the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Morgana's story can be found here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22837798/chapters/54582247


	10. The Brothel

Selaer was _not_ amenable to the idea of having a conversation with Grenna’s new friend about anything. And he was especially averse to discussing the Shadowscales with someone who, in his opinion, had no business with them, being from as far from the Black Marsh as it was possible to be. It was the reaction Grenna had expected, but she’d agreed to try, and so she had.

He’d left her at the inn as he went to finish up his errands in the city. As soon as the door shut, Grenna grabbed the tonics she’d prepared the night before and put them in her satchel. She took the key from the night table and left the room, locking it behind her. Without an Argonian assassin at her side, the regular folks easily paid her no mind as she made her way through the back alleys to Mournhold’s nefarious carnal establishment. As a healer, the private goings-on between people did not in any way make her squeamish. Everything was _fine_ until she had to deal with her own physical intimacy.

The brothel entrance was not obvious, which made discretion easier, at least. Nevertheless, Grenna glanced around to see if anyone had watched her come this way. The area seemed vacant, and so she slipped in, hopefully unnoticed.

It was dim inside, heavy velvet curtains covering the windows. The entryway and the main parlor room that she stepped into were cleaner than she might have expected. Though, having never been to a brothel before, her expectations were limited, to begin with. To the right, a large archway led to a barroom with tables. There was an impressive staircase, and a corridor leading who-knew-where from the parlor. This early in the day, it was no surprise there weren’t any patrons.

A well-dressed woman seemed almost to materialize out of nowhere. She was Dunmer, wearing tight trousers, a low-cut silk blouse, and a snug vest. Her dark hair was done back, piled up fashionably. She smiled, astute red eyes sizing Grenna up. She had to be the matron.

“Are you lost, my dear?”

“N-no.” Grenna cleared her throat, trying to sort out exactly how to ask her questions. This was no place to be shy. Pleasures of the flesh were their bread and butter. “This _is_ where I meant to come.”

“Virgin?” The Dark Elf came closer, looking sympathetic.

“No, just inexperienced…”

“Well, in either case, we are absolutely equipped to accommodate you. There are skilled ladies and gentlemen in my employ who are very adept at making the less-experienced more comfortable. Whatever your preference, I can help.” She gestured toward the staircase and glanced around, undoubtedly in search of a servant or assistant of some sort.

“Oh, thank you very much, but what I’m hoping to get is not of a…physical nature.” Grenna clarified, feeling strangely nervous, in an anticipatory way.

“Ah, I understand.” The Dunmer nodded. “Well, my name is Tolen; this is my establishment. So, please, tell me how we may be of service.”

“I’m Grenna.” She shook Tolen’s hand, which seemed to amuse the woman. “I can and absolutely will pay, of course. I’ve also brought several solutions…erm, tonics, which I feel will be of good use here.” Grenna was babbling. “I suppose they are solutions, figuratively _and_ literally.” A small anxious laugh bubbled up, and she rummaged in her bag, the bottles clinking quietly together. “Anyway, these are very safe. I’m a healer, you see, and a more than adept alchemist. And I…I have had the great horror of being too late to help someone who needed…a solution.”

“Relax, my dear.” Tolen smiled, putting a hand on Grenna’s shoulder. “No need to be nervous, no one will judge you here. And…if those potions are what you say, then I will gladly buy them from you.”

“Oh, no. I intended to give these to your House, whether I was helped or not. Such things are…it seems selfish to extract gold from you to ensure the health of your ladies.”

“That’s very generous Miss Grenna, you could sell these for several thousand gold apiece, are you certain you want to give them away?” Tolen frowned a little.

“Oh yes, they cost me little to make, but the process is very specific.” Grenna smiled and set the bottles one by one on the side table nearby.

“You’re…a very odd girl.” The matron chuckled, shaking her head. “But I know sincerity when I see it. I accept your donation. Now, what is it you hope to learn here?”

“That’s just it…learning.” Grenna fidgeted, turning the bottles to all sit square. “I have a…someone, and I am looking for information on perhaps how best to satisfy him.”

“Has he been dissatisfied?”

“I don’t think so, he says everything is wonderful. He’s quite experienced and has…been very considerate and attentive of my…needs.” She could feel her ears burning hot.

“Well, men and mer are not terribly complicated to please, which, in the healing profession, you are surely aware of.” Tolen crossed her arms, regarding her strange customer.

“Yes, of course, but he is Argonian.”

“Ahh, now I understand.” Tolen nodded. Grenna found herself incredibly relieved that she was being taken seriously. She’d feared being laughed right out the door. “Well, I know just who you should talk to. She has a particular fondness for her Argonian customers. I’ll take you up; you may discuss terms of payment with her if she wishes.”

“Thank you so much, I really appreciate your help.” Grenna followed Tolen up the staircase, and they passed by the second floor and stopped at the third. While things were mostly quiet, there were a couple doors they passed that very obviously had customers behind them. It gave her an excited little jolt, knowing, at least in general, what they were up to.

“She’s off duty this morning, but I think in this case, she will make an exception.” Tolen knocked on a particularly ornate door. Each door they’d passed had a different design to it. A short moment later, it opened, and there stood a tall, almost unearthly beautiful Dunmer woman. She had long, waist-length white hair, the sides pinned back with tiny gemmed combs. Her eyes were large, fringed with long, dark lashes. She was slim and graceful.

“Tolen? I thought I was…”

“This young woman has questions only, and I thought you would be the best person to answer them. Her lover is Argonian, and she wants to know how best to please him.” Tolen explained. Though her voice was gentle, it was plain that Tolen wasn’t asking. The perfect, angled brows of the Dark Elven girl at the door rose briefly.

“Oh, well that’s fine, I’m more than happy to help.” She smiled at Grenna.

“Good.” Tolen gave a satisfied nod and put her hand on Grenna’s shoulder again. “If it is alright with you, I would like to speak to you before you leave again.”

“Yes, of course.” Grenna nodded, and Tolen started off down the corridor again.

“Please, come in.” Her new instructor stood aside and ushered her in. Once inside, she shut the door and pulled out the chair in front of her dressing table. The furniture was very fine, as were the drapes and the linens. The bed in the center of the room was wide, which made sense, considering that customers of every race, shape, and size were serviced. “Please, sit.”

“Thank you.” Grenna took the chair, noting the pleasant, floral scent of the room.

“My name is Cinasa.” She sat on the long stool at the foot of the bed, across from Grenna.

“Grenna.” She did her best to appear calm. Cinasa seemed cheery, her eyes bright and interested. “I didn’t mean to be an imposition…”

“Oh, not at all. This is no trouble; I just didn’t want to see _other_ types of customers.” Her smile was warm and relaxing even. No doubt it was part of their job to make people comfortable. “So, your Argonian…is he your… _first_ first?”

“Yes.”

“And…monogamous?”

“Yes.” Though it had never been discussed explicitly, Grenna was confident that Selaer meant for them to be _together_. He’d offered her his home, after all.

“Well, we’ll start with the most important thing, then.” Cinasa leaned forward a little, and Grenna readied herself to absorb whatever information she could. “You. _You_ are the most important thing! Don’t look so surprised.” She laughed. “Do you know what you like? Or rather, do you like the sorts of things he does to make you feel good?”

“He’s very skilled and determined to ensure I enjoy myself as well.”

“Oh, you are a very lucky woman, then.” Cinasa grinned. “What does he do that you like?”

“I…well…” Internally, Grenna squirmed. “He’s used his mouth…I like that a great deal, and he always seems to want to do that. He knows exactly where to touch for things to…work.”

“Lucky, indeed!” Cinasa crossed her long, shapely legs, her hands folded atop her knee. “Have you asked him what he likes?”

“Yes, and all he’s said is that he likes whatever I do to him, which…is not helpful.” Grenna looked down at her hands as she sat, wringing them in her lap.

“What’s the matter?”

“He’s been very forthcoming about his experience, and indicated to me that always his experiences were in these sorts of establishments.”

“Does that upset you?” Cinasa asked. Grenna looked up and shook her head.

“No, not at all. My only concern is that he was always with people much more skilled than I am…”

“Oh, I see.”

“I have also felt that he holds back from doing things as he’d really like, which…I suspect is one of the contributors to the fact that sometimes, things can…take quite a while.”

“Argonians _do_ take longer, in general, than men or mer, but not so long that it’s problematic. Usually. What things have you done for his pleasure?” Cinasa watched her, and only then did Grenna feel a little uncomfortable, wondering if she was looking at the scars across her face.

“Not much, unfortunately. My hand, I suppose, well, and obviously intercourse itself.”

“Are you opposed to using your mouth on him?”

“I’m not, and I’ve tried, actually.”

“Tried?” Cinasa frowned. “The only thing I’ve discovered to be universally true across men, mer, and beastfolk is that they love a woman’s mouth on their cock.”

“He said once that he’d like that, but when I’ve tried or gotten close to doing it, he very smoothly transitions to something else.” Grenna felt silly for being so bothered by it, but she didn’t want him to get bored, as she’d heard that some males do.

“My first thought would be that he simply doesn’t like it, but…”

“It would be fine if he didn’t, but he’d indicated otherwise, so…” Grenna let out a long breath, hoping that whatever business Selaer had would take more than an hour.

“Precisely. I think in this case, you’re going to have to sit down with him, _fully clothed_ to avoid distraction, and have a frank discussion.” Cinasa explained. “But…you came for information, not relationship advice. So, what I know about Argonians: in _my_ experience, for the most part, they like to go a bit rougher, but not anything too crazy. That costs extra.” She smirked, and Grenna blushed. “Beneath their jaw and around the neck is a fairly good erogenous zone to pay attention to. The lower part of the belly, just before the groin region. Insides of their thighs, the groin itself, of course. Once they’re excited, things get much more sensitive down there. The buttocks and base of the tail are other good areas, particularly for hanging onto when he’s riding you.” Cinasa pursed her lips, leaning her chin on her fist as she paused to think.

“Well, I know that when using my hands, they must be wet.”

“Good, that’s important.” The Dunmer nodded. “As for what to do with it once it’s in your hand, well, for the most part, that is preference, and he will have to tell you that. Don’t grip too tightly, as with most any male, really.”

“I seem to do alright with that bit.” It was useful to know which parts of Selaer would be sensitive and feel good. She could try to touch him places and see how he responded. One way or another, she would learn his desires.

“I guess by way of technique, there isn’t too much I can say besides use your tongue and your fingers interchangeably. Don’t lie there like a corpse beneath him, participate; it will feel better for you, too. Don’t be afraid of moving your hips in different directions if you’re on top. Front to back, side to side, around in a circle.” Cinasa went on. “It’s my understanding that willingness and enthusiasm go a great deal farther than just skill and experience. You care for one another; that markedly changes your lovemaking. People touch each other differently when there is love between them, and again, in my experience, most things feel that much better.”

“I understand.” Grenna had been tempted to bring something with her to take notes with, but it seemed straightforward enough that she’d remember it all.

“Oh, and it’s hit or miss with whether or not they like their backside played with. Typically, the Argonians I’ve known who _were_ interested in that sort of thing were more concerned with _mine_ than anything going in theirs.” Cinasa gave a quiet laugh, and Grenna’s eyes grew very round. Selaer had, so far, made no indication regarding his thoughts on _that_ particular activity. “Do you have any questions for me? Could be about this, or anything in general.”

“Well…” Grenna thought for a moment. There _were_ things about brothels she was curious about. “I’m sure there have been unpleasant and more pleasant customers, but…do you ever _really_ enjoy your work?”

“Ah, I have been asked that a few times. Though, usually, it’s by the more unpleasant sort of customers.” Cinasa sat back, leaning on her hands. “I’ve been doing this for quite a long time, and in _this_ House, there are more good customers than bad. We’re a bit more expensive here, and that keeps a lot of the riffraff out. Most of them are just work, but there _ha_ ve been a handful over the years who were truly delights to be with.” A smile spread across her beautiful face as she recalled. “My favorite is actually someone who has been here fairly regularly in recent years. I never have to fake anything with him. Can I tell you a secret?” Grinning, Cinasa leaned forward.

“Um, alright.” Grenna shrugged.

“He’s a _Shadowscale_.” The Dunmer beamed.

Grenna froze. “What?”

“Argonian assassins, surely you’ve heard of them. They’re so mysterious and dangerous. Though I’ve never felt I had to be afraid of him. He doesn’t talk much, of course, but then, he’s not here for conversation.”

“What…what is his name?” _Oh, no_. Her gut lurched with an awful feeling. But there were many Shadowscales. It could be any of them.

“He’s never told me, which is fine, I don’t need his name. I saw him last about a month ago, I always hope to see him come through the door. I cancel appointments to make room for him.” There was a hint of pink in Cinasa’s cheeks even. “He stands out quite a lot, I would have never imagined anyone that tall being very stealthy.” The fist around Grenna’s heart squeezed. “He’s _so_ handsome, though. He’s got this wonderful crest on his head, and it stands straight up when he fin-…”

Horror had etched itself onto Grenna’s face, and Cinasa stopped her vivid recollection, frowning at once.

“Are you alright?” She sat up straight, and Grenna couldn’t tear her eyes from the Dunmer beauty as a sick feeling settled into her stomach. Somehow, she’d assumed that Selaer’s distaste for the Dark Elves meant that this establishment _wouldn’t_ have been one he visited. But she was wrong, and not only was he a patron, he was a frequent patron, and _this_ stunning elf in front of her was the one he chose to bed _regularly_.

“I think I should leave.” The words came out as a strained whisper. He’d been here only a month ago, in _that_ bed…with that woman, touching her and pleasing her in the same ways he did Grenna. The painful image seared itself into her mind as she clenched her teeth.

“What…?” Cinasa’s brow furrowed, then her brows shot upwards, in unpleasant shock as she realized what was happening. “Oh, no…oh, _shit_ …Grenna, I…”

Grenna blinked back the prickling feeling in her eyes as she reached into her bag with a shaky hand for some gold. Until that moment, she’d never thought very much about her own appearance. It never mattered before if anyone found her attractive. Only Selaer’s opinion mattered, but now, having seen his usual _choice_ , she wasn’t sure what his thoughts really were. Cinasa was one of the most beautiful women Grenna had ever seen, with her long, lithe figure and flawless face. She bore no scars, no blemishes. She was tall and slim…she was as different from Grenna as it was possible to be. And he liked this woman enough to return repeatedly to have his _needs_ met.

“I…I’m sorry…I…please, no payment necessary…”

“You said the last time was a month ago, that was before he and I…so…it was before, but…” Grenna wasn’t sure who she was reassuring, Cinasa, or herself. It was before her, it shouldn’t matter. She knew no one else had ever lived with Selaer. He’d told her how different things were with her since she _wasn’t_ a prostitute. Those were _facts_ , things that she knew to be true…yet the horrible feeling inside her had not abated.

“That’s good. I suppose…I’m sure this must be very jarring for you, I’m so sorry.” Cinasa looked anxious as Grenna rose, placing a small handful of coins on the dressing table. “Look, I’m just a whore…”

“You’re a person.” Grenna stopped the attempt to make her feel better and finally dared to look up at the Dunmer. “What you do doesn’t change that or make you a lesser being. That sort of talk doesn’t help either of us. Like you said, this is just…very jarring.”

“That’s…very kind of you to say…all things considered.” Cinasa looked surprised. No matter what she did, Grenna couldn’t push the thought of Selaer kissing and touching this woman, making love to her, enjoying her _more_. “I don’t matter to him. You _must_ know that. I don’t even know his name, we’ve never _talked_.” Grenna couldn’t stop the glare she gave, and Cinasa winced, putting a hand over her face. “That’s not…I mean that he…surely he talks to you.”

“Of course.”

“That’s important. He cares for you, and that’s the most important thing…”

“Was he pleased?” Grenna shouldn’t have asked it and regretted it the instant the words left her lips. She silently berated herself as this poor woman who was to blame for nothing at all, looked ready to go to pieces, her mouth working soundlessly.

“I…did my job…yes…but…”

“Do you…did he let you…?” She couldn’t finish the question, but Cinasa knew what she was asking. What Grenna really needed right that moment was to _stop_ asking questions.

“Please don’t ask specifics, it’s…it doesn’t matter. It’s only going to make things worse…”

“ _Did_ he let you?” Why? Why did she insist on knowing? The Dunmer wilted a little.

“Yes.”

_Why her and not me?_

It echoed through her, hollow, painful. She was needlessly hurting herself.

 _Why_? It was before he’d ever met her, it wasn’t as if he’d done it since then. But it was _just_ before. Barely before. He’d been with this woman more than he’d been with Grenna, and likely enjoyed her more as well for all her many fine skills and beauty. _Gods, how she hated these thoughts._

“And…he pleased you as well.” Everything she was feeling was irrational, but being aware of that fact changed nothing. “And you’re so…” Grenna’s face twisted a little, and she unconsciously touched the scar on her cheek. “You’re very beautiful. Perhaps that’s why.” She adjusted the bag again, taking a deep breath, trying to push it all away.

“Oh, _no_ …don’t compare…” Cinasa reached out to touch her arm, but the look in Grenna’s eyes made the elf rethink it, and she pulled back.

“Thank you for your time…for answering my questions.” The floral scent around them had grown acrid and choking. The bile was rising in the back of her throat.

Grenna bolted to the door and left, closing it hard behind her before all but running down the hallway to the stairs. Why were there so many stairs? Why was this place so big? How many times had Selaer climbed and descended these stairs on his way to and from Cinasa’s bed? _Stop it!_

“Ah, there you are.” Tolen approached, smiling, but the smile wavered when she saw the wan, sick look on Grenna’s face. “What happened?”

“I’m not well, that’s all. I have to get going…”

“I wanted to ask how I might get more of those potions if the need arises…”

“Oh…um, I live in Stormhold. Send word bearing my name on it to the Coin Brothers tavern…the message will reach me, and I will send more.” Grenna turned to make for the door.

“Wait.” Tolen stopped her, clasping her shoulder. “I must know if you’re upset because of anything that happened up in that room.” _Yes, because of everything that had happened in that room!_

“No…Cinasa was very helpful. Knowledgeable. I really _must_ leave. I’m sorry.” Grenna pulled away and didn’t look back as she fled. Once outside the brothel door, she gulped the fresh air, but it didn’t help.

 _What_ was the matter with her? The fact Selaer visited brothels hadn’t bothered her before this, but then…she didn’t know any of their faces, she couldn’t picture it. Now she did, and she could. She knew specific things that she didn’t know before…that she didn’t _want_ to know. Ignorance had been bliss. There was no one to blame but herself. She had no right to be angry or upset with Selaer. It really was none of her business. There was a tiny sliver of resentment, though, that this sort of thing would never happen to him. He would never feel ugly or unworthy because of anything in _her_ past.

Her mind measured and compared herself side by side with Cinasa, and it seemed impossible to stop. Now what? How should she proceed? How did this terrible feeling _go away_ so that Selaer didn’t have to know about what she’d learned? Her jaw clenched and unclenched as Grenna took deep breaths, then pulled up her hood. It would pass. It must.

“Grenna.” The sound of Selaer’s voice startled her, and she looked around wildly until spotting him where he stood at the mouth of a narrow alley. How did he know to come here? She stared at him as he came toward her, words refusing to come out of her mouth. “ _What_ are you doing _here_?”


	11. Time To Go

_Oh, no._ Grenna stared at Selaer as he approached and drew up close. When he reached out to touch her, though, she flinched away. It wasn’t on purpose, and she wished she hadn’t done it, but she was utterly overwhelmed by everything that had just happened.

“What were you doing in a house of _ill-repute_?” There was concern and confusion in his eyes. Would it have translated to suspicious, disgusted mistrust on a human face?

“I brought tonics to safely help the women who might find themselves in trouble.” The words fell out before she had time to think about it. It was part of the truth, at least.

“I hope you got a good price; this place can certainly afford it.” He glanced at the building behind her, and Grenna barely managed to keep herself from scowling at him. He would bloody well know what they could afford, wouldn’t he? How much gold had _he_ spent in this place?

“It was a donation.” Her eyes were fixed on a spot on his shoulder, it was preferable at the moment to looking at his face.

“Well, that was generous…” There was a short pause before she could practically feel him narrowing his eyes at her. “Something is wrong.” It _wasn’t_ a question.

“I don’t feel well, we should go.” She started to walk away, but after a few paces, Selaer caught her, turning her back to face him again.

“You’re _pale_.”

“I’m always pale. Perhaps more so presently on account of the not-feeling-well.” What she felt was the urge to flee.

“No, this is different, you’re…” He moved to tilt her chin upward, and she pulled away from him again, this time unable to stop her feelings as they displayed on her face, undoubtedly flashing an incoherent myriad of things. “What…?” He took a half step back, clearly concerned by her unusual behavior.

“You don’t know _everything_ about me, Selaer.” Grenna’s words cracked like a whip.

“You’re angry with me. Why?” His entire posture changed as he became hyperaware of his surroundings. It was something any Shadowscale would do as tension rose.

“I’m…not.” How could she be upset with him for something that had nothing to do with her? What he’d been up to a month ago wasn’t her business, and it was cruel and wrong to punish him for something from _before_. She knew that. She knew a lot of things, and to her great frustration, knowing those things didn’t alleviate what she felt. How was such a thing to be dealt with?

“It certainly seems that way. What happened in the _one_ hour since I last saw you?” Selaer was no fool. He couldn’t read her thoughts, but she had no way to hide everything else from him.

“Nothing happened.”

“Did someone touch you while you were in there?” Rage flared up, his hand hovering near his hip where a sheathed dagger hung.

“No! Of course not.” She put every bit of conviction into those words as she could, and he looked the tiniest bit relieved, but then another question arose in her mind, drawing her brows together. “How did you know to find me _here_?”

“I…there are eyes everywhere, Grenna…”

“So, you had me watched?” _Now_ , she was angry with him.

“I wanted to ensure your safety.”

“How dare you?” The words hissed out through her teeth. “I…I am _not_ some fluff-headed child. I am not foolish _or_ stupid, Selaer. I’m perfectly capable of moving about in a city on my own, _and_ in broad daylight, no less.”

“ _This_ is a dangerous part of Mournhold.”

“You do _not_ get to decide things for me.” Grenna took a step back from him. She was shaking a little. Whether that was from this little revelation or being enlightened regarding the Dunmer whore, she didn’t know. All the above, perhaps. “You do not own me. You’re not _responsible_ for me.”

“I’m wrong for wanting you to be safe?” He stared at her as though willing himself to somehow understand. The logical part of her, which was in no control at all whatsoever right now, felt a bit bad for him.

“You’re _wrong_ for the way you went about it.” She opened her mouth to elaborate but stopped at the sound of the Brothel door opening behind him. Ice slithered through her veins as the person who stepped out, adjusting her cloak, was none other than Cinasa herself. “Of _fucking_ course,” Grenna muttered, effectively shocking Selaer, as she did not ordinarily utter such things.

Cinasa looked up, meeting Grenna’s eyes, and her mouth dropped open. Then, her gaze shifted to Selaer as he whirled around to see who was there. Grenna could see that he recognized her as the Dunmer’s pale gray cheeks quickly became a deep, pretty pink. Grenna didn’t turn pink when she blushed; rather, she looked like an overripe tomato, she thought. Looking at the two of them in the same place at the same time amplified and worsened _everything_. Suddenly, Selaer bared his teeth in a way Grenna had never seen before, letting out an angry hiss. Cinasa’s expression abruptly changed from almost-pleasant-surprise to fear as she darted back inside, slamming the door.

“You spoke with _her_?” Selaer turned back to Grenna, looking a mixture of confused and angry, though he shifted uncomfortably. Was merely _seeing_ the elf enough to arouse him? The very thought felt like a knife to the gut.

“It isn’t her fault.” The sternness in her voice caught him off guard.

“Why did you go to speak with her?”

“I didn’t go to _her_.” Grenna wondered if everything was ruined now. Had she inadvertently destroyed what tentative thing they’d begun building? It was then that she saw something else in his increasing discomfort that Selaer had never displayed before. Shame. She’d _never_ meant to shame him, and her regret wrapped around her like a chilled coil.

“What is the real reason you went in there today?” Selaer’s voice was quieter again, and Grenna’s shoulders slumped as she let out a long breath.

“I wanted to know what things Argonians… _like_.” Grenna’s face burned hot to admit it, no doubt reaching that swollen tomato visage.

He blinked, baffled. “Why didn’t you just ask me?”

“I _have_ asked you, and you’ve never given me an _actual_ answer. Obviously, the last thing I wanted was to interview…your favorite…one.” _Whore_. The word rang ugly in the way she was thinking it, and whatever she was feeling, it was unfair to speak down about a person that way.

“She…I…?” Selaer gaped, at a loss for words, his own feelings appearing to grow as complicated and tangled as Grenna’s.

“I thought if I came here and acquired some knowledge that I might be able to…do better…during things.”

“What have I done that you think you need to _do better_?”

“I don’t know…I had a feeling. I can tell that you hold back, and you always shy away when…certain attempts are made. I didn’t know if I was doing something wrong, since I knew you weren’t going to be forthright about it if I was.” The middle of a narrow street, in front of a brothel, was not the sort of place she wanted to have an important conversation, especially one of _this_ nature. He said nothing for a long moment, and so she went on. “I came here thinking that perhaps my lack of skill and experience was part of the issue. I told the matron that I wanted to know more things about Argonians, and, well… _that_ Dunmer was who she sent me to.” She gestured toward the door, a grimace twisting her face. “Little did I know that her knowledge and advice would be _quite_ so specific.”

“Ugh, no…this is…” Selaer put his hand over his face, sighing, but suddenly pinned her with a steely look. “How did _I_ come up in that discussion? Do you readily go about telling people who and what I am?”

“ _No!_ I think I’ve already made mention that I’m not stupid, Selaer.” She huffed. “I made the absurd mistake of asking her if she ever enjoyed her work.” Grenna’s teeth clenched and unclenched as he watched her, a pained expression in his eyes. “So, she began describing her most favorite customer, who had been here only _one_ month ago, and all the wonderful things he does to her. And the things she does to him. Then she said he’s a towering Shadowscale with a crest that always stands up when he…” Looking down at her feet, stomach roiling all over again. She scowled as she watched it in her mind’s eye, over and over. “It would take severe brain damage not to make _that_ logical leap.”

“I am sorry, Grenna…”

“Don’t apologize. That’s not what I want.” She sighed, feeling…sad. “You wanted to know what happened in there and so I’ve told you. I meant for you to never find out that I spoke to her. It seemed an innocuous thing to keep to myself. But there you were, the instant I stepped out the door, and I had no chance to gather myself.”

“It’s because of me you feel this way, why would I not be sorry for that?” He wanted to reach out to her, she could tell, but he resisted, lest she flinch away from him again.

“No…” Grenna shook her head.

“No? I don’t understand.”

“A month ago, the last time you were here, you didn’t know who I was. Anything before…whatever it is that we’re doing…doesn’t matter. At least it shouldn’t, anyway.”

“Whatever we’re _doing_? You _live_ in my house.” Selaer’s eyes narrowed once more.

“It’s been six days since I woke up in your bed. Not even a week.” She counted in her head. “And…only twenty days since you were dragged bleeding into the storeroom.”

“Why does that matter? Six days, twenty, or a hundred or a thousand, I will feel the same.”

“You can’t know that…”

“ _You_ can’t know otherwise.” He didn’t look as though he was about to explain where this certainty of his had come from.

“What I’m saying is that _I’m_ being ridiculous, getting all bent out of shape when it hasn’t been very long.” In part, she was trying to convince herself, reaching for any possible thing that might push back what felt like a gaping void in the very center of her.

“What you’re saying is that the time we’ve had isn’t important because there hasn’t been a lot of it.” He took another half-step back, and ice dropped into her stomach. She hadn’t considered that it might come off that way.

“N-no…” She scrambled for some explanation to clarify. “I mean that whatever you did before we…before you and I had… _before_. Before is of no import. It doesn’t matter. I meant it when I told you I didn’t care that you came to places like this. What kind of a person would I be if I held that against you?”

“You look like you’re about to vomit on the street. I’d say that regardless of our minuscule time together, _before_ matters a great deal more than you’re trying to convince yourself.” Selaer let out a long breath. “Just tell me why you’re upset with me. Is it because there have been others besides you? There’s nothing I can do to change that…”

“I don’t want you to change anything that’s possible or _im_ possible. I’m upset at _myself_. Not you. Not even _her_ , if you can believe it.” Grenna ran her hands back over her hair, loathing the way she felt, wishing she’d had any time at all to think before having to speak to him. How did something so foolish feel _this_ terrible? He came closer again, and this time when he put his hands on her shoulders, she didn’t flinch away.

“But why?”

“Because of this…heinous surge of _jealousy_ that I feel as I measure myself against an impossibly beautiful woman who completely eclipses me with her looks and her skills. And…and she has had you in all the ways I have not.” Grenna didn’t want him to see what she was feeling. It made her feel stupid and petty. “So, I wonder how someone like me can compete with someone like her.”

“Someone like you?”

“Yes, someone who is so…entirely inadequate…who looks like…this.” She peered down at herself, and what she thought was a considerable amount of extra padding compared to the elf and her perfection. “While I might be tall for a Breton, I’m certainly short compared to _her_. She may as well be a flawless torso atop twelve miles of legs. With perfect skin and…no scars.” Grenna resisted the urge to cover the scarred part of her face, a thing she hadn’t ever even considered doing before today. Selaer made an _amused_ sound, and she glared through unshed tears. “You’re _laughing_ at me?”

“I’m not laughing at you…just…if you only knew.” Selaer shook his head.

“If I only knew _what_?”

“There is no comparing, Grenna. Whatever you may think.”

“ _Everyone_ compares everyone to everyone else. How lucky you are that _I_ have no comparisons to make.” Her voice was quiet as she felt so foolish and small. “You saw her many times. So…you obviously liked _something_.”

“Look at me.” He was serious again, and she made herself look him in the eye. “My only criteria for the company I paid for was willingness…a lack of _revulsion_. She was the _only_ one here not disgusted by the prospect of bedding my kind.” Grenna’s own bias made it seem ridiculous that anyone could be repulsed by Selaer, but he’d mentioned more than once that not many felt the way she did.

“Oh,” Grenna whispered. “That’s…I’m sorry it was like that for you.” She’d lived her entire life with the privilege of never having to face such a thing. Having visible scars wasn’t even remotely comparable to the persecution the Saxhleel still endured regardless of having obtained freedom.

“Do you see, then, what it means to me…to be desired by the person _I_ want?”

“Oh.” She said again.

“Just because you and many others look at that Dunmer and find her beautiful, doesn’t mean that I see things the same way.” His eyes darkened a little as he watched her. “And she was certainly never my favorite.”

“Then, who is?” The reflexive question popped out before Grenna could stop it.

He gave a snort. “Who do you think?”

“Oh.” Her cheeks got warmer, and Selaer tilted her chin up, bending to kiss her, but the brothel door banged open, startling them both. Knife in hand, he shoved Grenna behind him, and she made an exasperated sound, coming to stand beside him. It was only Tolen who had emerged, though. He put the dagger away, but not his suspicion.

“Ah, you _are_ still out here.” Tolen crossed her arms, lips pursed, appearing more than a little perturbed. “So, one of my best earners is inside in hysterics right now, convinced she’s going to be killed by Shadowscales,” Selaer said nothing, apparently content to let Cinasa believe that, even when Grenna nudged him, so she sighed and stepped forward.

“Really, there’s nothing to worry about, we’re leaving.”

“She told me what happened, Miss Grenna. I said it before, and I say it again…you’re an odd girl. You even paid her after learning…what you learned.” The brothel matron shook her head.

“There was no reason _not_ to pay her.” Grenna shrugged.

“Would either of you be willing to reassure her that assassins are _not_ , in fact, going to come for her? I need her to be able to work tonight.” This clearly wasn’t the first tense situation the brothel matron had been part of, which was no surprise.

“Fine, I will…” Grenna let out an inconvenienced sigh and moved toward the door, but Selaer put a hand on her shoulder.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. Should I…?” Selaer started, but she turned toward him with a look that stopped him mid-sentence.

“ _No._ I’m a fairly reasonable woman, but I’ll be damned if I stand here and watch you cross _that_ threshold to have words with _that_ person.” True, she was feeling a bit better about the whole situation, but though it might have been selfish, she didn’t want Selaer and that Dunmer to ever so much as see one another again. Surely allowing herself one such petty demand was sensible. “ _I_ will do it.” He understood, though, and gave a nod. “And then I’d gladly never set foot in Mournhold again.”

“I will wait here.”

Grenna followed Tolen back into the brothel. She knew how frightening it was to always be looking over her shoulder, worried that someone might be coming for her, there was no reason for the Dunmer to live in fear. Undeniably, having seen the way Cinasa had looked at Selaer, part of her was a little bit tempted to leave, giving no reassurances.

Tolen led her through the barroom and down a small corridor to what looked like a sitting room trimmed in an excessive amount of dark red velvet. On a cushioned settee was Cinasa, clearly crying, as three other female workers stood close, looking anxious. One of them handed the distraught woman a glass of something. Cinasa’s worried red eyes flicked to Grenna then fixed on the door as if waiting for Selaer to come through. Grenna realized then that the Dunmer _liked_ him, at least beyond the passing fondness she’d expressed.

“Sorry to disappoint, but it’s just me.” Grenna’s tone was clipped. “I’ve come only to tell you that your life is not in immediate danger. So…” What else was there to say? Cinasa nodded, sipping the drink, then let out a long breath and shook her head, looking at her knees for a moment.

“May I…may I ask his name?” She met Grenna’s eyes again, looking the slightest bit hopeful.

“No.” Grenna had just about reached her limit dealing with this entire ordeal, and she looked at Tolen, who nodded. It was enough. It had to be, she had nothing left to give, and turned to leave the room.

“Grenna?” Cinasa called from behind her, and against her better judgement, she paused and looked back where the Dunmer now stood. “He was always so polite…I’ll never forget him. Will you at least tell him that?” For some reason, fury surged upward from a dark place deep down inside her. Even Tolen looked aghast. Grenna’s skin tingled with rage, her fingertips beginning to glow.

“He’s already forgotten you.” She didn’t know if it was really the truth, and the words came out steadier than Grenna felt. Perhaps it was a cruel thing to say, but she was beginning to run short of compassion. Cinasa looked wounded, but finally, it was over.

As Grenna emerged, all but slamming the door, Selaer looked up.

“It’s time to _go_.” She wanted to leave this place, this city, this region altogether!

“What happened?” He saw the anger plain on her face.

“She had the _gall_ to ask me your name.” She hissed at him.

“What did you say?”

“What do you think I said? I told her no!”

“Good. Let’s go.” He took her hand, and at long last, they left that street.

Neither spoke as they made their way through Mournhold. Grenna was ticking off a mental to-do list to ensure everything would be ready for them to leave right away. It didn’t matter that they’d be camping for the night somewhere in the woods. So long as it was _away_ from here, she’d be happy.

“Are you alright?” Selaer asked once they were behind a locked door. Grenna was rummaging through her bags to quickly organize them.

“What? Yes, why?” It was a bit of a fib.

“I am still sorry that…today was trying.” He sat at the edge of the bed.

“ _Trying_ …that’s certainly one way to put it.” She muttered.

“I don’t think everything that needs to be said has been said.”

“I want this day to fade into the past and never have to be discussed again. I don’t want to think about it or talk about it or…anything.” Grenna’s shoulders slumped. “I want to forget every bit of knowledge I had the great misfortune of obtaining today.”

“It’s not about any of that. That’s done with and forgotten, unworthy of your attention or mine anymore. Please, come here.” He reached out his hand to her. After a long pause, she acquiesced, allowing him to pull her closer to sit beside him.

“What, then?”

“The thing that led to all this…that _is_ my doing. For fear of sounding critical, I thought saying nothing was better when you asked. But it was careless.”

“Critical? What did I do incorrectly…?” She wilted, briefly feeling as if her worries were justified, but he took both her hands.

“Nothing. The only mistake was _mine_. I will remedy it.” He paused for a long moment, gathering his thoughts. “Ahdra was right when she told you there had never been anyone who mattered to me this way before. In that regard, at least, we are on equal footing.”

“Yes, well…I suppose we can fumble in solidarity then.” Grenna still didn’t feel wonderful. She wanted to smile and reassure him that whatever had happened hadn’t driven her off, but the feelings were still running their course.

“How can I help?”

“I don’t know. I’ve had an afternoon of things I’ve never in my life encountered before; I haven’t the slightest clue how to alleviate that.”

“May I tell you a story, then?” Suddenly, Selaer gathered Grenna in his arms, pulling her to sit across his lap, then he moved back to sit propped against the wall.

“Are there Argonian stories or fables that impart wisdom regarding beautiful whores and plain women?” She was only half-joking.

“Plain? Grenna…” He made a frustrated noise. “This is a story about me.”

“Alright.” She quieted, fixing her eyes to his.

“I hatched the last day of Second Seed: the last day of the year to be born under The Shadow, as I’ve told you. I was raised in a Brotherhood sanctuary located in the Black Marsh, so I wasn’t entirely separated from the Saxhleel. But when my training was complete, and I was of age to choose, I elected to join the Brotherhood, but also remain in the service of the Shadowscales.” His gaze slipped downward to Grenna’s mouth, and she thought he might get distracted from the story, and she merely nodded, but he focused again.

“I visited the village I had come from and sat at the roots of the Hist where I had hatched. I felt disconnected, even though I could still feel its presence. The tree-minder there offered to help, to show me how to feel truly joined again, and I accepted. For years I’d been solitary, and so I took part in a ceremony, which was how Ahdra found me. It worked, I felt part of the fold once more and was reunited with what family I had left.”

“Did you feel less lonely, then?” Grenna asked.

“Yes and no. It was difficult to trust, and so only Ahdra knew me at all. We were connected through our parents, and I knew she would not betray her egg-brother.” Selaer held Grenna a little more closely, nuzzling her jaw before pressing a light kiss to her lips. “But, also during that ceremony, when I tasted the sap, it whispered to me.”

“The sap whispered?” She was beginning to feel distracted herself, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“Yes, saying only that an outsider would heal my wounds.”

“So, then…” Grenna pulled back just a bit. “The Hist knew you’d be getting stabbed and dragged to the tavern for some hapless Breton to put you back together again?” A smirk tugged at one side of her mouth.

“I’m sure of it, though it meant a different wound.”

“I see.” She nodded, feeling a strange little giddiness. “And you think I’m that outsider meant to heal your philosophical or existential wound?”

“I know that you are.” He chuckled. “That night Ahdra brought me to you, I discovered what longing really was. I wanted to talk with you even more than I wanted…to bed you.” She stared at him, a little overwhelmed by the implication, but in telling her that, he’d erased many of her misgivings, which no doubt was the intention.

“I suppose I was worried for nothing, then.”

“Correct.” He kissed her, and she was glad not to drag that particular conversation out more. She wanted to think more on it before more discussion of that nature. His _longing_ must have been contagious, as all she could think about was touching him. “If you’re willing to delay our departure just a bit…” She obviously was, allowing him to lay her down on the pillows beneath him. A soft groan escaped her as he pressed one thigh tightly between hers. The sensation was frustratingly muted through the layers of their clothes.

“Only if you don’t hold back…and don’t hide your desires from me…I won’t think…” She gasped as he moved against her hard, and to her shock, she almost finished right then.

“Interesting…another way to please you.” Selaer murmured against her neck, then kept going, grinding his hips against her as though they were making love fully clothed. Grenna moved wantonly into each stroke and came abruptly, crying out with the hard, fast release, clawing at his jacket. But it was more frustrating than relief.

There was little more maddening than trying to quickly get out of traveling clothes. Were they not so intent on their goal, the massive tangle of arms and legs as they struggled to undress would have been comical. They turned over multiple times until finally, free of garments and with Grenna astride, she guided him in.

Selaer put his head back, giving a strained groan through clenched teeth. She rocked her hips against him, then leaned down, kissing his neck, and then bit him. He bucked under her a little, and Grenna grinned, feeling him tighten his grip on her waist. His hands roamed, moving down her thighs then up to her hips and backside where he left one hand, the other sliding across her belly. She stiffened ever so slightly, and he looked up at once, taking his hand away.

“Would you prefer I don’t touch you there?”

“I…well…” She stilled, feeling foolish that insecurity such as that had taken root so quickly that she reacted to him that way. “It’s alright…if you don’t mind it…”

“Mind _what_?” He blinked.

“That I…I’m…that I don’t have the physique of an assassin…or a warrior…” Her cheeks turned crimson as she realized how silly it sounded aloud.

“You’re warm and soft, Grenna.” He took hold of her hips once more. “And the way you feel against my skin and how you fill my hands…” He let out a shuddering breath, pulling her against him, pressing even deeper inside her. His body certainly didn’t lie, and it was quite clear by that just how much he enjoyed her.

“In that case, I enjoy wherever you put your hands.” She emitted a squeak as he put her on her back in one quick movement.

“You wanted to know what I like… _that_ is what I like.” He breathed, hips moving steadily. “I’ve never lain naked like this with anyone…your skin on mine.” Grenna stared up at him; his eyes were dark, and his breath quickened. Selaer touched her face, the pad of his thumb rubbing gently across her lips. “And the feel of your mouth when you kiss me, or…” On impulse, she sucked his thumb, and his hips jerked as he squeezed his eyes shut with a grunt.

Grenna gaped at him. “Did you just…?”

“You see?” He chuckled but didn’t stop. “Knowing it’s _me_ that you want…” She was panting in quick gasps, urging him along, moving more frantically beneath him. Selaer eagerly obliged, his pace increasing, intensifying. Every part of her felt as if it thrummed with her pulse as Grenna groaned softly. “And the sounds you make…” He moved harder, but she could feel him tempering the pace.

“No, don’t do that…” She breathed, gripping his backside to pull him into her more. Just that simple act seemed to burst the dam he’d built for himself, and he braced his hands on the bed, finally letting go. Selaer moaned aloud, a low sound from deep within his chest, every impact jarring her entire body. Then the aching tension coiled throughout her snapped, and Grenna dug her nails into his back, demanding more, her voice almost ragged.

Selaer’s completion chased hers as it began to wane, both his arms wrapped tightly around her as he drove deep, shuddering with release.

Grenna was breathing hard, a sheen of sweat on her skin as she shook beneath him. Her eyes were closed, and she felt spent in a way she hadn’t before with him. She’d be sore again, but that didn’t bother her. Right then, there wasn’t anything in the world that would bother her. She had what she wanted: him. All of him, and in a way no one else ever had. He was stroking her now _very_ tangled hair.

“Are you alright?”

“Oh, yes.” She murmured, greatly desiring a nap. Selaer moved onto his side, still holding her. “Is…is that how you always want it?” It wasn’t a complaint, but she certainly felt out of shape.

“No, of course not.” He whispered against her ear.

“It’s fine if you do…but…I’m going to need more exercise, I think…” She told him sleepily, and he shook a little with laughter.

“Not to worry.”

“We might need to delay our departure…just a little bit more…because…I’m fairly certain I don’t presently have what it takes to walk or stay in a saddle.” Grenna yawned. “Maybe a small nap…?” Selaer laughed again, pressing a kiss to her temple.


	12. Illumination

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to Dovahkiin7718 for her collaboration during this chapter with her character Morgana!

Grenna leaned back against Selaer as they made their way along the road. The forest was quiet, and the motion of the horse lulled her into a relaxed, sleepy state. She was perfectly able to ride her own horse, of course, but when Selaer asked her to ride with him, she wasn’t about to turn down the opportunity to sit with her bottom comfortably wedged between his muscular thighs for several hours.

She dreamily, and with great enjoyment, replayed their pre-departure tryst through her mind. A small, excited shiver ran through her.

“You…” She frowned a little, remembering something he’d said. “When you said that you _never_ …did you mean…”

“I wondered how long that would take you.” He chuckled.

“Really, though? Never? Or were you just saying that?” Grenna glanced over her shoulder at him.

“I wasn’t in much of a position to formulate a lie.”

“True.” She murmured, leaning back again. Selaer’s tightened his arm around her middle. “I have to suppose that you’re at the very least five years older than I am…”

“Is that a question?”

“Well, _are_ you?”

“I am at least five years older than you are.” He confirmed, giving an amused snort.

“Ten years?”

“Is it relevant?” His arm squeezed a little, and she grinned.

“Alright, so it’s a good possibility that you’re at least ten years older than I am.” She paused, then grinned. “Goodness, Selaer, what a cradle thief you are!”

“What does that make _you?_ ”

“Lucky, probably. My parents had designs of sending me off to marry a particular nobleman who had well crossed the line into elderly and was known for his bad hygiene.” A grimace twisted Grenna’s face briefly, and then a shudder.

“You could have been a wealthy widow. Instead, you’re mucking about swamps consorting with a dangerous assassin.” A low chuckle rumbled in his chest.

“Wealth never did me any good. I had my _first_ taste of real happiness in Stormhold working and being scolded by Ahdra, but then going back to my little hut at night, or scouring the creek for herbs and botanicals…” She grinned, letting out a long, contented sigh. “And then you, Mr. Dangerous-Assassin, coming along and…”

“And?” Selaer urged. She’d had just about as much discussion about feelings as she could endure for one day, though, and returned to the original topic.

“So, at minimum, you’re thirty-three years old, and you never took _all_ your clothes off with anyone else?”

“I didn’t realize it would result in analysis.”

“I can’t imagine it was because you were shy.”

“I’m not shy.”

“I am aware.” She scoffed. “I’d known you all of three minutes, and you’d already taken your pants off.” A crow cawed in the distance. Grenna scanned the trees to see if any of her new _friends_ were lurking about.

“You didn’t seem to mind.”

“I didn’t.” That had been the first time she’d felt genuine desire for someone; she’d never forget it. She pondered, though. “Had the opportunity…risen…would you have bedded me that night?”

“No. I am patient, and I wanted to know you.” He let go of her and took the reins in both hands as the horse shifted uneasily, almost coming to a halt.

“Is something out there?”

“You mean _besides_ your feathered daedric friends?” Selaer asked dryly.

“They followed us the whole way _to_ Mournhold, and the horses didn’t care. Perhaps wolves, or a bear or something.” Uneasiness seeped into Grenna as she peered into the vegetation on either side of the road. She didn’t hear anything moving about, though. Her horse was tethered to his and seemed equally disturbed.

“Whatever it is, it would do well to stay away.” Selaer urged the horse to continue, and Grenna hoped he was right.

It was dark by the time they crossed the Shadowfen border, and there was at least another three hours’ worth of riding were they to pick up the pace. Instead, Selaer led Grenna and the horses off the road a little way, and they set up a tiny, temporary camp. The horses, thankfully, had calmed. Had they not, Grenna had planned on insisting they get all the way to Stormhold, dark or not. She still felt that way a little bit as they settled into their bedroll.

They were beneath a small, rocky overhang with a couple strategic branches keeping them from view. Her mind would not quiet, though, and she fidgeted, trying to get comfortable. Selaer adjusted, and she grew still when she felt a hard ridge pressed against her backside.

“ _Really_ , Selaer?” She whispered.

“What do you expect when you lie there, squirming against me?” Arms around her, he took hold of her breasts, pressing a kiss to the side of her neck. Her anxiousness shifted, and she pushed her backside more tightly against him, hearing the shuddering exhale of his excitement. He moved, rolling them both, and Grenna was pressed face down on the bedroll as he propped himself up on one hand, fumbling with the laces of her trousers with the other.

They were both breathing heavily, but Selaer stopped suddenly, his entire body growing very still.

“What—” His hand clamped over her mouth, and she heard it. Rustling, gradually getting closer, but there was something off about it.

“Stay quiet and don’t move.” The words were little more than a breath in her ear, and before it even registered, he was gone. Stealthy, indeed.

Grenna’s mind leapt wildly from one worst-case scenario to the next. Was someone coming for her? Had she been spotted in the city? Or was it someone coming for Selaer? What if it was a pack of wolves?

“You’d better get out there.”

Somehow, by some miraculous surge of self-control, Grenna stopped the scream before it could form. She knew that voice, and furious, she felt around in the dark until coming upon the feathered body sitting right beside her. _How_ had she not heard him?

“ _What_ are you doing?” She hissed.

“Go, medicine woman. That lizard will need help.” He gave her leg a hard peck, and she flicked his beak before crawling out.

She could only barely make out the shape of Selaer, where he crouched and quietly, she stooped beside him. The horses were getting more restless, stomping their hooves and shifting.

“I don’t know what it is.” The note of concern in his voice nearly sent Grenna reeling. She’d never heard him sound like that.

A strange groan emanated from the dark, and her heart hammered in her chest. _Terror_. It had been a very long time since she’d felt that frightened, and already, she could feel the heat of retribution rising up, her fingertips tingling. A breeze rustled the leaves and carried with it a thick, acrid smell. Decay. Grenna was very familiar with all stages of decay of all manner of creatures, and this bore only a scant resemblance to the odor of dead things.

The realization gripped her, solidifying her terror, sending tremors through her as she stared wide-eyed into the darkness. The shuffling of heavy, rotting limbs was getting louder.

“Undead.” She whispered.

“What?” She felt Selaer’s movement as he turned toward her.

“Undead, it’s _undead_ , they are in the woods, and they’re _coming!_ ” Panic rose up very quickly, bitter like bile in the back of her throat. Fear…there was no worse feeling, none she had experienced at least. Her breath came shallow and rapid, and Selaer gripped her by the shoulders, giving her a small shake.

“We need fire, Grenna, that’s the only thing that will stop them. Can you do it? I need you.” His urgency was getting worse, and she swallowed audibly. Her life was in danger. _His_ life was in danger. The flames erupted in her blood, and her hands began to glow.

“Yes…I will…I can…” She was outright shaking. Terrified and enraged that she was being made to feel this way. Her body moved, and she observed as if a passive passenger, as she reached up, hurling a burst of light upward, lighting the entire area. Despite the burning light coursing through her, ice ran through her veins.

More than a dozen lumbering forms halted their march, cloudy eyes, and empty sockets turning first to the light and then to its source. Some were empty-handed, others were draped in the scraps of uniforms, gripping their rusted blades. They were human, Dunmer, Argonian…or rather, they used to be.

“Shit.” Selaer stood, a long blade in each hand, his eyes calculating as more of them came into view. If this went badly, she might see him torn apart by these monsters.

The reanimated corpses attacked, and Selaer moved in a flurry of precise movements, slicing, stabbing, cutting. Grenna held the light above them, keeping the area lit as she ignited them with her free hand. The fire of the sun tore them apart from the inside, but there were so many. They were being overwhelmed.

The light dimmed just as Selaer gave a pained cry, and she steadied it but felt very close to losing her concentration. Something glinted blue out the corner of Grenna’s eye, but she couldn’t risk looking. Her attempts to shield the two of them were failing, and all she could do was throw the burning balls of light at the vile creatures.

Grenna lurched away from a grabbing hand, but as it touched her, it burst into flames and shrieked, falling back. These things weren’t alive. They no longer possessed the ability to reason or observe. Seeing others burning did nothing to deter the attack. Selaer made a snarling, ragged sound, and as she turned toward him, she watched as a rotting human corpse pulled its blade from his back. The edges of her vision turned black.

Several of them seemed to pause, but more were closing in as she let out a vicious cry that felt as though it tore her throat. More of them stopped walking, pulling at their legs, and the one that had stabbed Selaer suddenly thrust its blade into another one beside him.

“Burn them! I have them…Burn them _NOW!_ ” An unseen woman screamed.

Grenna saw the slithering tendrils of blue holding the undead in place and was in no position to analyze or ask questions. She grew still, centered, and it felt as if she was spinning very quickly then stopped as she released a blinding flash, the intensity of which she had not experienced since _that day_.

The shuffling and groaning had stopped, the reek of burning flesh filled Grenna’s lungs, and the sound of corpses screeching as they met their final demise rang in her ears. There was silence, it was done. The only noise was the crackling of fire as some burned for longer than others.

Selaer dropped to his knees, and she practically flung herself toward him. He winced, shrugging out of the coat as she pulled up his shirt. Her heart was pounding as his blood-soaked the shirt and covered her hands. She put them over the bleeding wound, and he winced, stifling a growl as the golden light flashed. Perhaps she was, in her fear, a bit overzealous, but at least he would heal. She kept a small light burning so she could see what she was doing.

“This is _not_ how I imagined the night going,” Grenna muttered, wiping away the blood and checking to make sure she’d done a thorough job. The tension of pain left Selaer’s body but was at once replaced with another.

“Who is there? Who stopped them?” He twisted, trying to look around them. She didn’t know, and frankly, at that moment, didn’t care. They weren’t dead, and that was far more important, in her opinion. There was quiet, disconcerted cawing from the trees above them.

“I have no idea; I just want to get home…” Her head was pounding from exertion.

“Someone _stopped_ the undead, who did it?” He would not settle, ever vigilant in his suspicion.

“I did.” A cloaked woman stepped into the light and pushed back her hood. Grenna blinked, surprised to see her red-haired friend from the underground market in Mournhold. She better understood Morgana’s guarded countenance. Practitioners of the necromantic arts were universally despised and outright hunted by some.

“Well.” Grenna fidgeted, wiping her bloody hands on her trousers. “Your aid was certainly welcome.” Selaer rose, hand twitching as he resisted the urge to push her safely behind him.

“She stopped the dead, did she start them, too?” His eyes narrowed considerably, barely keeping himself from baring his teeth.

“No,” Grenna interjected at once. “I’m no mage, but whatever _started_ them was distinctly different.” She looked up at him, imploringly, hoping that somehow maybe she could communicate without words as well as he did. Selaer seemed to understand, sighing and gave a nearly imperceptible nod, eyes flicking in Morgana’s direction again.

“Apologies.” He inclined his head toward the red-haired Breton, but despite his acquiescence, he in no way trusted this stranger.

“No one is particularly delightful after taking a blade to the back.” Grenna exhaled and stepped forward a bit. “Really, though, Morgana, thank you.” Her new friend leaned against a tree and nodded.

“I’m glad I was able to help.” There was an almost breathless quality to her comment, Grenna could see the exhaustion plainly. It wasn’t her first time encountering the physical drain that the use of magic could have. “If it’s not too much trouble, can I sit with you for a bit before continuing? Maybe we should light a fire?”

“Yes, of course…do you need water? Healing?” Obviously, she did. But Grenna didn’t want to be pushy any more than her new friend seemed to want to intrude.

“No, thank you. Just some time to sit will be fine.” Each step Morgana took was labored, and Grenna was poised to catch her. She would fall, of course, no one in that state stayed on their feet long.

“You noticed, I’m sure, that I stoppered-up this one here.” She jabbed a thumb in Selaer’s direction, hoping to coax the woman into accepting some help. He sat down, pointedly not participating in the conversation, and shoved his hood back. He was uncomfortable, and apparently, so were the crows as their fussing got louder.

“You did a wonderful job, from what I can see.” Morgana’s foot nearly caught on a raised root, struggling to stay upright. Silently, Grenna counted. _Three…two…_ She fell, and deftly, Grenna at least kept her head from bouncing off the ground. Morgana’s horse gave a concerned snort.

“She’ll be fine,” Grenna mumbled at the beast, fetching her own jacket to use as a pillow. It was no trouble to give Morgana back a little energy, enough at least that she’d be able to get to safety. They were all headed to Stormhold, after all. Noisybeak chose that moment to flap down, the thin branch swaying as he landed. “And _you_ …”

“I tried to warn you she was coming. She stinks of death.” He squawked.

“I’m fairly certain that’s all the _corpses_ , you feathered fiend.” She shooed him but he flapped and stayed put.

“Does it not seem convenient that she was here at just the right moment?” Selaer got up prowling like a suspicious, predatory animal.

“Convenient that someone came to our aid when a horde of undead was about to tear us limb from limb? Why, yes, I think that is _very_ convenient. For _us_. You’re not the only one who knows things, Selaer.” She started gathering their things, their own horses slinking back toward the light having broken free in their panic. Not that she could blame them. “She saved our lives, I think the least you could do is stow your hostility until given evidence that it’s warranted, and after all that you owe her that conversation she wanted to have.”

Selaer cast her a less than thrilled look, but she knew he couldn’t argue with her logic. Noisybeak made some garbled comment, and Grenna looked over to see him standing on Morgana’s chest.

“Get _off_ of her, you bloody menace.” She shooed him yet again, and he hopped off the now conscious woman, muttering his complaints. Grenna offered her hand. “You weren’t out more than a quarter-hour at most. How are you feeling?” Morgana accepted the help getting up, brushing herself off.

“Better. Much better, actually. You must have used your healing magic, thank you.” She was uneasy. "It is greatly appreciated, truly.” Her eyes moved from Grenna to Selaer and back again. “I should go.” She turned to her horse, giving him a pat.

“What?” Grenna frowned. Her patient was in no condition to be traipsing off alone in the fen, of all places.

“It might be in everyone’s interest if I do. Component sales can still be arranged, I give you my word.”

“In everyone’s interest? What do you mean?” Grenna’s frown deepened. The woman had helped them, what harm could she be? Well, that was a dangerous question, considering they didn’t know one another hardly at all. Morgana avoided her gaze, though.

“You saw some of what I can do, and that’s something I would have preferred to keep a secret. Only those that have…hired my services know my face.” Her horse took something from her hand, munching noisily as she turned her back. “Necromancy is not something that people warm up to, and no one wants a necromancer for a friend.”

Grenna stared at the back of her head before tutting and rolling her eyes.

“ _Really?_ That’s your concern? We met in an illegal market selling outlawed reagents. You’ve just _met_ a Daedric crow in my company.” She sighed. “And him, well, you know.” Grenna made a throat-cut gesture. “I rummage through dead bodies…well, not these ones…” She wrinkled her nose. “…for spare parts for my...alchemical...services. I don’t think we’re in any sort of position to be judging anyone. You didn’t attack us, that’s good enough for me.” She folded her arms.

“If you still wish to have that discussion, I am willing.” Selaer stepped forward, not sounding especially willing at all. “Preferably somewhere else, not knowing what else is out here…” Morgana looked at him, giving a small nod.

“I would be grateful. We can meet somewhere else, further from your home, if that would be more comfortable.”

“The Coin Brothers will do.”

“Thank you.” Morgana nodded.

“There is also the matter of these undead. This is unprecedented.” It was apparent that there were many things Selaer _wasn’t_ saying.

“I agree that this attack is a concern. It takes a good amount of time and powerful magic to raise so many undead or multiple mages.” Morgana looked at the remnants of their attackers.

“I’ve smelled a lot of dead things, these have a unique…and horrifying undertone of…well, undeath.” There wasn’t much pungent enough to make Grenna gag, but this stench came close. Her concern wandered back to Selaer’s wound, though. He should be resting, but no doubt, there would be nothing of the sort in the coming hours.

“It’s not something that’s welcome in the Marsh.” Selaer still watched the shadows around them, wound tightly and ready to spring, but he looked down at Grenna for a long moment before addressing Morgana again. “We’re riding for Stormhold now; you’re welcome to ride with us, but we aren’t stopping until we arrive.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Morgana's story can be found here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22837798/chapters/54582247


	13. A Mess of Trouble

Grenna furiously scrubbed her skin until it was red. She’d already washed her hair three times to get the stink of burning corpses out. Her clothes were in a pile outside the house where she’d stripped down, not daring to risk bringing the smell inside. Her first bath had been during the sunrise in the icy pond, which was fed by a nearby stream. She would burn the defiled clothes for sure.

Several hours earlier, Selaer had seen her safely home before immediately departing once more. It was mid-morning, and there was no sign of him yet. She’d shooed the crows twice for fighting in the yard, starting to feel that these newfound “friends” were likely going to be more like children than useful. But if their friendship was this inconvenient, she didn’t want to know what their enmity would be like.

The incident the night before was not the first time Grenna had ever seen undead things, but she’d never seen them swarm like that, she’d never been _attacked_. Though, her previous experience had been observing specimens reanimated by curious physicians who were dabbling in dark things. Mostly, the creatures were caged, or, if they started acting up, promptly burned to death.

More impatient than usual, Grenna grabbed her bag, slung it across her chest, and made her way into town. Sleep wasn’t happening, so she might as well work. Besides, undoubtedly Ahdra was displeased with her inconsistent attendance as of late. As much as she wanted to, Grenna couldn’t lay the blame for that solely on Selaer, though it was tempting to do so. She was perfectly capable of telling him no…she just didn’t want to.

As she walked, Grenna kept an eye out for her new friend from Mournhold. Where Morgana had decided to go was anyone’s guess. Upon arriving in Stormhold, Selaer had brusquely pointed her at the Mage’s Guild before taking Grenna home straight away.

The Coin Brothers themselves were on staff this morning and seemed pleased to see her, each waving hello when they noticed her slipping in. It was their establishment, but Ahdra kept it running. She was their…well, it was complicated. It had taken Grenna a while to notice that Six-Coins and Five-Coins were both _with_ Ahdra. The latter emerged from the storeroom and gave a sudden hiss, grabbing Grenna by the arm and dragged her back behind the curtain.

“I know, I’m sorry…I’ve been a terrible barmaid…”

“That doesn’t matter. Well, it does.” Ahdra’s eyes narrowed. “You _are_ a terrible barmaid.”

“Ouch.” Grenna frowned.

“Someone’s been asking about you.”

“Oh!” She beamed. “A Breton woman? My height-ish? Thinner…very red hair? That’s Morgana, she—”

“No, a different one. Asked for you by your full name, said she is your sister. And she said it loudly.” Ahdra shifted uneasily, and Grenna gaped at her.

“None of my sisters would be caught dead in the Marsh. Not to mention, not a single one of them is even capable of traveling alone.” She scoffed. “They’ve sent someone, then.”

“As soon as I tell my brother, there will be no more problem. That little yellow-haired slip of a girl was a good actress. She affected wide-eyed innocence very convincingly. No one _that_ naïve would make it from High Rock to Stormhold.”

“Wait, what?” Grenna stomach gave an unpleasant lurch at Ahdra’s description of this mystery person. “Did she give her name?”

“Jen something? Jill?” Ahdra scratched her head, then folded her arms. “It doesn’t matter! I told her I’ve seen too many faces and that I don’t listen to names. She seemed disappointed but left.”

“Jillean?” Ice ran through Grenna’s veins.

“Yes, that’s it!”

“That’s…no. Ridiculous. Someone’s trying to lure me, they’re imitating my younger sister to draw me out!” Her stomach churned. Jillean had been her only ally for a very long time and was the only person Grenna missed when she thought about High Rock. “I _knew_ someone would come. I was hoping it would take them longer to find me. I tried to cover my trail, I backtracked and…I’ll never have any peace…” It was a terrible sinking feeling, the tendrils of the misery she’d known for so long reaching to take her by the ankles and drag her down.

“Selaer will ensure you have peace.” Ahdra gave a snort. “Speaking of my brother, how did you manage to peel yourself off of him and get out of his bed long enough to don clothes then drag your sorry carcass in here, hm?”

“We got back from Mournhold very late last night, we…” Grenna lowered her voice even more. “We were attacked by a swarm of undead just over the border into the Marsh.”

“No.” Ahdra’s mouth dropped open, but she snapped it shut. “Impossible.”

“ _Not_ impossible. I haven’t burned the clothes I was wearing yet if you need proof!” Grenna hissed and shuddered a little. “Selaer went to inform his…brethren…I assume. Were it not for my Breton friend, I’m not sure how we would have overcome them. So, if _she_ comes in here, be nice to her.”

“What do you mean? I’m nice.”

“Nice like a cactus.”

“A cactus?” Ahdra’s brow knitted in confusion. “What’s a…”

“Never mind.” Grenna took a deep breath and slowly let it out, trying to bring order to the chaos that had erupted in the last day. “I was going to work, but now I don’t know if I should…”

“Maybe not. You should probably go back to Selaer’s and wait for him. I don’t think I want to see the side of him that would emerge if something was to happen to you.”

“I’m not completely helpless, you know.” She gave the Argonian woman a small scowl. Helpless? No. But, she was worried that whoever her family had sent would try to take her back. If they tried, she wasn’t sure what she would do, but she knew what Selaer would do. The methods would be different, but the result would be the same. Grenna wasn’t keen on having more blood on her hands presently. “I’ll go, but I’m stopping by the carpenter’s first.”

“Unwise, but you won’t listen to me.” Ahdra rolled her eyes with a huff, but leaned in once more, and whispered, barely audible. “You are aware, I’m sure that even if my brother is not here, there are eyes on you. A great many of his…brethren, as you say, are deeply loyal to him.”

“I am aware.” Grenna’s jaw clenched and unclenched. She would never admit to Selaer that for once, she was glad of his overzealous need to ensure she was not in harm’s way. “I’ll be quick. _And_ careful.”

It took a great deal of effort to appear calm, or at the very least, to appear no more anxious than usual. Grenna’s eyes scanned face after face. Any non-Argonian she glanced made her heart pound harder than it already was. This wasn’t how she wanted to live. She left Glenumbra so that fear and unhappiness _wouldn’t_ loom over her anymore.

Jeet-meh, the carpenter, was bent over his workbench but set aside his tools upon seeing her approach. He flashed a brief, toothy Argonian grin, and got off his stool.

“Come to check my progress?” He wiped sawdust from his hands and the front of his shirt.

“No, well, yes. Simply curious, is all. I don’t want you to rush or anything…” She started to wring her hands as she watched the people milling about the artisan area but gripped the strap of her satchel to still them.

“Is something the matter?” Jeet-meh glanced around, too, as though he could spot the source of her unease, but Grenna shook her head.

“No, no. Not to worry.” The smile she plastered on would convince no one.

“Very well.” The carpenter gave a nod. “Unfortunately, I have nothing here to show you. Both pieces are in my workshop at home. Your case is nearly complete, though, my mate is putting on the finishing touches today.”

“Oh, well, I’m happy to hear it.” The buckle on the leather strap bit into her palms as she squeezed.

“She is a fine painter and wished to contribute.” He nodded hello to another customer who stepped up beside Grenna.

“I look forward to seeing them. I’ll let you get back to your business, have a good day, Jeet-meh.” She forced another smile and sidled away.

What she should have done was go directly back to Selaer’s house. Instead, she continued meandering, riddled with paranoia, and no doubt looking like a maniac. Her attention was caught, though, by the sunlight glinting off glass bottles, and Grenna approached the stall. There were many bottles of various shapes, sizes, and colors. There were some that would be _perfect_ for her apothecary case once it was completed. The distraction was certainly a welcome one, even if it _was_ unwise to let her vigilance slip.

“In need of more supplies already?” A hand touched Grenna’s shoulders, wrenching her from the mental organization of her reagents. Startled, she jerked backward, knee slamming into the table which immediately upset the wares atop it. Glass bottles clinked together, the tiny ones rolling off the edges. Nothing broke, at least.

Her heart was hammering, and she put her hand over it, blinking, and finally looking up to see it was only Morgana. No kidnappers or assassins. Not yet, anyway. She glanced at the others nearby, just in case.

“Sorry…sorry…I…” Her eyes fell next to the unhappy, especially leathery-looking Argonian woman who owned the stall. “So sorry. I’m going to buy a _lot_ of these, I promise.” Hopefully, that would be conciliation enough. The vendor nodded, then bent to retrieve her scattered wares. Grenna scooped up several and put them haphazardly back onto the table, still murmuring apologetically. At last, she attended to the inadvertent cause of the upset. 

“Apologies, I didn’t mean to startle you.” Morgana picked up a couple of the bottles that had rolled toward her feet, setting them aright with the others. “Though I don’t think it would’ve taken much seeing how jumpy you are.”

“Morgana, sorry. It’s not you; you didn’t startle me. Well, you did, but it wasn’t…” She sighed. This was not the time or place for an explanation. “How are you? Since…you know, all the…erm…” Saying _undead_ aloud in the midst of the marketplace would have been unwise. “ _…giant wasps_.”

“I would hope that the…giant wasps aren’t to blame for your agitation, you handled them well.” Her face was kindly if guarded.

“Giant wasps are the least of my problems right now. If _that’s_ any indication. In fact, I would welcome an entire swarm of giant wasps if it meant that I didn’t have to...deal with the thing...that I have to...deal with.” Grenna exhaled a long breath, trying to calm herself, running her hands back over her hair. The fen was especially humid today, and the mass of brown waves was frightful. The vendor seemed far enough away, and she sidled closer to Morgana. “I came here to…get away from a…rather terrible existence. I thought this was far enough away, but it isn’t, someone’s—”

She halted, as it _really_ occurred to her for the first time that Morgana was Breton as well. Could she have anything to do with this? But they’d met by chance, hadn’t they? No one could plot anything _that_ well, could they? Well, there was that necromancy bit; it seemed unlikely someone with a secret of that magnitude would be hunting down a lone runaway and exposing such inclinations. Right? No, that would be ludicrous.

“I’ve been found, apparently.” She continued. “So, if you see yet another Breton creeping around with blonde hair…”

“Similar to that one?” Morgana nodded, looking over Grenna’s shoulder.

“ _GREN-NA!_ ” It was a familiar whine, and it was loud, echoing across the artisan stalls and booths. Every muscle in Grenna’s body clenched at once, her extremities feeling numb as her fingertips started to glow almost white-hot – the unfortunate reaction to her heightened state of fear. Her head whipped around toward the source.

“Grenna Sidoric!” It was her; it _was_ Jillean. Somehow, her feather-headed little sister made it to the Black Marsh. Glamour was a possibility, though. All it took was one skilled mage, and a piece of Jillean’s hair and the perfect bait would have been created. Grenna’s breath came so quickly she was starting to feel dizzy. The patrons milling about were taking notice, between Grenna nearly upending the table and the ruckus pseudo-Jillean was making, they were a downright spectacle!

_Not good…not good…_

Possibly-pseudo-Jillean grinned from ear to ear, waved obnoxiously, and started shoving her way past people, coming their way. Grenna could hear her own pulse, the urge to run welling up. Above them, in the trees, cawing started growing louder and more insistent. The damned crows knew something was amiss.

“There are enough people between her and us, we can get you away.” Morgana glanced around, searching for some point of egress. “We’re not _tall_ , I could go a different direction since I stand out a bit more…” It was kind of her to offer, but much too dangerous.

“Whether that is or isn’t my sister, it’s not a reunion I want to have with all of Stormhold watching, but it’s one I must have, nevertheless. Come, back this way.” Snatching Morgana’s wrist, Grenna tugged her around the vendors at the end of the market and dodged behind the Under-Root. She rapidly calculated all the possible outcomes. Jillean would be dumb enough to follow someone behind a building, someone posing as her, would not.

“I don’t know who might be with her or who is watching…” All Grenna wanted was some peace, was that _so_ much to ask for? Her family had driven her away, why would they try to get her back. She’d assumed they’d be much happier with her gone. Noisybeak flapped to her shoulder and ruffled his feathers, resisting as she tried shaking him off.

“Grenna? Why did you run…” Jillean came around the corner then squealed when the crow lunged at her. Grenna deftly caught him by the tail and chucked him away, where he gave an indignant caw, hopping to a branch. Then, without hesitation, she grabbed the front of Jillean’s jacket and pushed her roughly against the building.

“ _What_ in Oblivion are you doing here?”

“Looking for _you_ …obviously. What are…stop it, ow!” Jillean whined as Grenna took a fistful of her golden locks, peering closely at her face.

“How did you find—” The question was interrupted as an Argonian arm appeared and snatched Jillean from Grenna’s grip. Her sister gave a small shriek before Selaer threw open the cellar hatch beside them and unceremoniously tossed her down the stairs. She landed hard with an oof, and Selaer peered down at Grenna, perhaps a little disapprovingly. Morgana leaned back a little and smirked, looking down the hatch.

“What timing you’ve got.” Grenna peered right back at him.

“You were going to do this in public?” He murmured then narrowed his eyes briefly at Morgana, no doubt having the same momentary doubt that Grenna had experienced earlier.

“Back here is better than out there, _isn’t_ it?”

“Marginally.” Selaer started down the stairs, and she turned to her new friend once again.

“I’d say you could probably just go, but, like I said, we don’t know who or what else came with her.”

Jillean sat at the bottom of the stairway with various visible scrapes and bruises forming. Selaer reached her first, and her pale blue eyes were wide and afraid.

“Who are you?” His voice had a low, dangerous note to it.

“Jillean Sidoric, Grenna’s _sister_. Grenna, _what_ is the matter with you? I thought you’d be glad to see me.”

“I don’t know that you are who you say you are. And if you aren’t…he _will_ kill you.” Grenna was uncertain how she felt. Did she want this person to be Jillean, or did she want it to be an imposter who would no doubt return to Glenumbra disassembled as a message?

“I _am_ who I say I am! Have you gone mad?!” Jillean looked from Selaer, who now held a dagger, to Grenna and back again.

“What is something your sister would know that no one else would?” He leaned casually against the wall, looking very ominous, which he was quite good at.

“Erm…” Grenna frowned.

“That is not a fair question! You kept every thought and feeling that you had a bloody secret! Not a one of us knows a thing about you other than how much you hated to be obedient!” Jillean cried, looking more and more fearful. She wasn’t wrong; Grenna had carefully guarded herself ever since her parents sought to have her beaten into submission. Jillean was too young to remember that particular event, though.

“Show me,” Grenna told her suddenly. Glamours were very good, but they couldn’t capture everything. There _was_ something that only the actual Jillean would have. Her one tiny symbol of rebellion.

“Show you what?”

“You know what.”

“Oh.” Her sister blinked and turned puce, slowly getting to her feet. She unfastened her coat and started pulling at the linen shirt tucked into her leggings, but halted, glancing again from Selaer to Grenna. Rolling his eyes, he politely turned away. “There.” Jillean lifted her shirt, and there on her right side, on her ribs, was a little tattoo comprised of little flowers and vines. Not long before Grenna had left home, a troupe of traveling entertainers had come by their estate to camp for a night. One of them, a young artist, had caught her sister’s eye, and while Grenna didn’t know to what extent Jillian had involved herself with the artist, it had been enough that she’d ended up with that tattoo. When it had become inflamed, Jillean asked Grenna for her help, begging her to never breathe a word to their family.

A very small, amused sound came from Morgana, who quickly covered it with a cough, looking stoic once more, arms folded. Jillean was sufficiently offended, however.

“It was a big deal for _me_.” She frowned.

“Very well, I believe you are who you say. But how did you find me?” Grenna gave an impatient wave.

“You’re going to be angry.”

“I’m _already_ angry.”

“The night you left…I slipped a small stone into your bag…” Jillean cringed as Grenna gaped at her.

“You _tracked_ me?!”

“I didn’t like the thought that you’d be gone forever, and so…”

“Why did you come here?” This back and forth was growing tiresome, and Grenna was getting more impatient.

“To warn you…I heard people talking with father about coming for you. They said they knew where you’d gone.”

“And you’ve led them right to me. _Brilliant_ , Jillean. Don’t you think a letter would have sufficed? The gardener would have helped get a message to me.” Grenna’s mind was racing, and she looked to Selaer. His eyes softened a little.

“Not to worry, no one will get near enough to accomplish anything.” He assured her.

“I’m not worried.” She muttered. “But now I’ve got _this_ idiot to contend with.”

“Hey!” Jillean pouted, and Grenna whirled on her again.

“You are, Jilly, you’re an unworldly fool. I can appreciate your desire to warn me _if_ that is what you’re here for, but you’ve caused a mess of trouble because you _didn’t_ think! This is not a game, I didn’t leave for _fun_.”

“I know that! But what do you think happened to me when you left? They knew we got along. It was frightening to leave, but it was better than…” Her sister stopped and shook her head, tears in her eyes. It had never occurred to Grenna that their sisters and parents would turn on Jillean in her absence. “I miss my fine things, but…I don’t think I want to go back.”

“What? You cannot stay here…this is…just… _no_. Absolutely not.”

“That can be dealt with later, Grenna.” Selaer stepped forward, sheathing his dagger. Just then, someone turned the bend in the corridor that led to the seedy outlaw refuge. They all turned to look, and the young man nearly fell over himself as he turned to scurry back the way he’d come. “We must worry first about whoever followed her.”

“Grenna, can I at least stay with you until it gets sorted out?” Jillean implored, but Grenna shook her head.

“I don’t know where you’d…I just…I don’t know.” She jumped suddenly, though, as another Shadowscale stepped out of the dark corner as though made of darkness itself.

“Take her, await my orders.” Selaer nodded toward Jillean.

“ _WHAT?_ ” She shrieked, backing away from the Argonian.

“Gag her if you must.” Selaer shrugged.

“Jilly, be _quiet_ and go with her if you would like to remain amongst the living.” Grenna shoved her toward the waiting Shadowscale, who said nothing. With no other option, they disappeared around the corner. Grenna let out a long breath and rubbed her face.

“Gods, nothing is ever simple, is it?” She groaned. Selaer gave a snort.

“Did you actually expect it would be?”

“No, but still.” She heaved a heavy sigh and looked over to where Morgana was patiently and quietly waiting. Were it anyone else, she might be more concerned about her having watched a Shadowscale abscond with her sister, but it was what it was. “I don’t think any of this nonsense will affect you, at least. I’d suggest the two of you have your little chat sooner rather than later, though.”

“Tonight then.” Selaer nodded in agreement.

Morgana came forward. “What do you need me to do?”

“When Coin Brothers closes, meet us there.” Selaer turned then to Grenna. “There are loose ends that need tying up. When you are done here, I will see you at home.” His hand brushed her back, and she stared after him as he, too, vanished around that corner. With just a glance and a touch, he’d said a good deal more than his words had.

“Um…” She blinked and then cleared her throat. “Well. That ordeal was…something.” The last two days had run her ragged, and mostly, she wanted to sleep for a while. Perhaps a nap when she got back, and if Selaer was waiting for her, well…

“Is your name truly Sidoric?” Morgana’s question pulled Grenna back to reality and stared for a long moment.

Oh no. She tried to formulate whatever words she might need to apologize for her deplorable family. Then again, not many knew just how wretched they were since they put considerable effort into appearing...not horrid.

“It is, unfortunately.” Grenna squirmed internally. “My father _is_ Lord Weylen Sidoric.”

Morgana shrugged. “Okay.”

Grenna blinked slowly, having unnecessarily prepared herself for explanations and justifications. Too often, people seemed to romanticize and dream of the life of nobility, rather than the vile hellscape it often was, at least in her experience.

“Alright.” She gave a nod. “So…I will see you later, then, at the Coin Brothers? I’ve got to go, ah...do something. Selaer…well, not Selaer, that isn’t what I meant…well…I mean that I…” Grenna shook her head. “Do enjoy the rest of your day, don’t get eaten by plants.” With that, she made good her escape and skittered back up the stairs and into daylight once more. She heard Morgana call up to her, though.

“Yes, see you later, and I hope you enjoy the rest of your day doing _something_ with your Shadowscale.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to Dovahkiin7718 for collaborating with Morgana!  
> Morgana's story can be found here:  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/22837798/chapters/54582247


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